Knocking on Heaven's Door
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: When Sam and Lucifer are torn apart, Sam must tread a dark path to get him back. How much of the man he loved will be left when Lucifer finally returns? Will his family and lover be able to save him from himself?
1. Prologue

**About 6 weeks ago Snarkymuch and I sat down and plotted out a third story for the Samifer Heaven and Hell series. We got off to a great start and words came together well. Things recently took a turn, and I have since finished the story alone. All scenes written by Snarkymuch have been removed, so the story you read is written by me alone, even if the outline came from shared ideas.**

 **Jenjoremy signed up to beta this for me – she's a real glutton for punishment – and Gredelina1 was in invaluable help with this.**

 **Thank you for joining me on another story, I hope you enjoy…**

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

' _And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain – probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata near where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: He's here to see you.'_

Metatron threw the book into the fireplace, disgusted. "Fifty Shades of Drivel! How is this a bestseller?" he asked the empty room. Human creation was incredible. Some of the books he had read over the years were awe-inspiring, but this was not one of them. The only thing outstanding about this story was the horrific abuse of adjectives.

He picked up an old favorite from the side table and opened to a random page. He was quickly lost in the story of following Oliver Twist's various misfortunes. This had been written when stories were good, in the time of Dickens, Twain, and the like. It seemed human's ability to weave tales had degraded over the years, particularly over the last decade.

He was peacefully occupied when he felt a second presence in the room. It was unusual for anyone to visit him here, the deliveries of books were left outside the door, and that was how he liked it. He was a very private individual, at first by necessity, and now by choice.

He looked up and his breath caught in his throat. There was a demon standing opposite him. He managed to control his reaction well enough that the demon shouldn't have noticed, but he thought there was a smug look in its eyes. Behind the human visage, the rotted mess that denoted what the demon truly was flickered. Metatron felt slightly disgusted at the sight.

"May I help you," he asked with aplomb.

"Name's Crowley," the demon said. "Perhaps you've heard of me."

"No," Metatron replied flatly.

"No, I guess _you_ wouldn't have," Crowley amended. "What with you being in solitary and all. Well, I'm King of Hell."

"And you're here because…?" he allowed the question to trail into the air.

"Because I thought, given that you're a little out of touch, that you'd like a heads-up on what's happening in the world."

"You were wrong," he replied. "I live a solitary life out of choice." That wasn't entirely true. He lived it because the opposite was to be among the other angels and to have his mind pilfered to satisfy the archangels. He was not going to confess that to the demon though, the so-called King.

"See, I've been thinking," Crowley went on without invitation. "If you've been tucked away in here, you're unaware of what _Lucifer_ has been up to."

The name worked like an electric shock for Metatron, sparking through his grace. "Lucifer is trapped," he said.

" _Was_ trapped," Crowley corrected.

"He's free!"

"Yep and he's currently living it up with his Winchester."

"What's a Winchester?" Metatron asked.

"A denim-clad nightmare," Crowley said. "There are two of them, brothers, and they're hunters. One of them is Lucifer's current squeeze. Well, that's probably playing it down a little. He's apparently the love of Lucifer's life. Sam's his name—right pain in the arse. Anyway, now Lucifer is free and living it up with Sam, and that's where I thought you would like to be caught up. Lucifer is back in Heaven with Gabriel, and they're running a neat show up there."

"Lucifer is in Heaven!" Metatron's voice was strained with anger. Lucifer was part of the reason he had fled Heaven, had lost his home and father, and now Lucifer was back there among the angels. And he had a human lover. How could that be?

"Yep," Crowley said with satisfaction. "He's nice and settled up there."

"How is this possible?" Metatron asked.

"Long story. Short version: Lucifer got out of the cage and fell in love with Sam. Raphael and Michael went to war and are now both dead. Lucifer has been welcomed back into the fold." His voice became cunning. "And there's you, here, left out in the cold as it were."

Metatron's anger spiked. It was beyond unfair; it was wrong and cruel. He, who had sacrificed everything, was here, alone, and Lucifer, who had destroyed everything, was back in Heaven. He wished he could kill him. He wished he had the power to hurt an archangel.

"See, now you're getting it," Crowley said, seeing his fisted hands. "And I was thinking to myself, who has more cause to avenge himself upon them than you?"

Metatron narrowed his eyes. "What do you want from me?"

Crowley smiled. "I was thinking, since you wrote the God tablets and all, that you might have a trick or two up your sleeve for dealing with them."

"I cannot kill an archangel," Metatron said, though he wished the opposite.

Crowley looked disappointed, but he quickly rallied. "No? But I'd bet you've got some other way to make them pay, right?"

Metatron considered. "Yes," he said slowly. "I might."

Crowley clapped his hands together. "Brilliant. Let's talk revenge…"

* * *

 **So… To quote Jenjoremy's words, Crowley is a real bottom feeder. He is, but I adore his character regardless. He has an important role to play in this story, and I'm hoping you'll enjoy reading him as much as I did writing him.**

 **Sam is going to travel a** ** _very_** **different path in this story to anything I have written before. Brace yourselves for some angst.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	2. Chapter 1

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the fab beta job and Gredelina1 for all your help and support. Thank you all for reading and supporting the story xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter One**_

"I fold," Castiel said decisively.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Show me your cards, Cas."

Castiel laid them down and looked away.

Bobby stared at the line of hearts and he sighed. "You don't want to fold," Cas," he said patiently. "This right here is what you call a flush. That's good."

"Oh, then I don't want to fold," Castiel said picking his cards up again.

Bobby laughed as he laid down his measly two pair. "Too bad for you, I do." He picked up the cards and began to shuffle them.

"I can do that," Castiel said.

"Sure," Bobby said, handing them over. "Just don't—"

Too late. Castiel attempted a cascade shuffle and dropped the cards all over the floor. Again.

Bobby sighed then brightened as there was a disturbance of air behind them. He turned to see Lucifer standing by the door. "Hey, Lucifer," he said.

"Hello, Bobby, Castiel." He frowned at the cards spread over the floor. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to teach Cas to play poker. It's not going well."

"I like to shuffle," Castiel said.

Lucifer nodded at the cards. "I can see." He sighed. "How can you not know how to play poker, Castiel? I spent millennia in the deepest depths of Hell and yet I know."

"I was preoccupied being a guardian of Heaven," Castiel said.

"And after you fell?" Lucifer asked with a raised eyebrow. "There were never nights spent sitting around here with nothing to do?"

"No," Castiel said. "That was the time of the apocalypse, and we were preoccupied trying to stop… well, you." He looked apologetic as he finished.

Lucifer nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you were."

"You looking for Sam?" Bobby asked to break the uncomfortable moment.

"Yes. He's close, so I thought I would wait here for him," Lucifer said.

Bobby bent to pick up the cards. "About time those two got back."

Lucifer nodded. Bobby knew it was hard for him when Sam and Dean went on their hunts without him. If he had his way, he would probably stay by Sam's side at all times, especially after what had happened after they killed Dick Roman. Bobby knew the angel hadn't forgotten how Sam had been snatched away from them, and that he still held onto his guilt for despairing and abandoning the search.

Sam had been decided though. He was going to hunt with Dean as they always had, and Lucifer was going to attend to Heaven when he was needed there. Bobby thought the balance was good. Lucifer and Sam had a tendency to lose themselves in each other, and Dean especially felt the loss of his brother's presence. It was better with the new arrangement though. Sam and Dean needed each other as much as they needed anyone, even though, in Sam's case, that need was shared with Lucifer now, too.

Lucifer's head snapped up and his smile became wide. A moment later, Bobby heard the rumble of the Impala's engine approaching and he understood the reaction. Sam had arrived.

Dean's annoyed voice preceded them into the room. "I swear, Sam, if you ask me one more time if I'm okay, I'm going to bite _you_."

When they came in, Bobby saw the problem at once. Dean's shirt was stained with blood and he was pale. "What happened to you?" he asked.

"A Vetala took a chunk out of him," Sam said. "But he's _fine_." The last was accompanied with an eyeroll.

"Would you like me to…?" Castiel let the question hang in the air.

"It's okay," Lucifer said. "I can do it."

He was closer, and there was no reason for him not to, but Castiel's brow furrowed as Lucifer laid a hand on Dean's bloodied neck and mended the wound. Castiel was so accustomed to being the boys' healer that it was strange for him to share the responsibility with Lucifer. Bobby figured it was going to take him a while. Dean had pretty much accepted Lucifer now. There was none of the old tension, but he couldn't help but tease him and Sam, as he did now as their eyes met and Sam smiled the kind of smile he always saved for his lover and they embraced.

"Get a room, you two," he growled.

"We have one, thanks," Sam said and then addressed Lucifer. "Do you want to head back there?"

"Hell no!" Dean said. "We just got back. Sit down. Shut up. Have a beer. You two can be alone later."

Sam ignored his brother and waited for Lucifer's answer. "I am happy here," Lucifer said, and Sam smiled again.

"Seriously, codependent much?" Dean groused.

Bobby snorted and Lucifer and Castiel exchanged a look laden with meaning. If there was a pair of brothers more codependent than Sam and Dean out there, Bobby was yet to meet them.

"Hey, Mr. Pot, get me a beer will ya?" Bobby said with a laugh.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.

"I think he is referring to the saying 'pot calling the kettle black'," Castiel stated, then turned to Lucifer and said proudly, "I know that one."

Lucifer smiled indulgently and nodded as Dean rooted in the fridge and pulled out three beers. He handed one to Sam and Bobby each and then twisted off the cap of his own and took a draw on it.

"So, apart from Dean ending up a Vetala juice box, how did it go?" Bobby asked.

"There's two less monsters in the world now," Dean said proudly. "So I call it good."

Bobby looked to Sam for confirmation, and he said, "It went okay. We got the drop on the first, and while Dean played decoy getting his neck chomped on, I took care of the second. There were a few civilians already dead, but we got a couple out of there alive."

"That's all you can do," Bobby said.

"What have you been up to?" Sam asked.

"We've been playing poker," Castiel said proudly.

Sam looked surprised. "Wow, that's cool."

Lucifer took Sam's free hand and turned it over in his palm, tracing his hand along the lifeline. Feeling like he was intruding on something private, Bobby looked away to Dean who was scowling outwardly, but his eyes looked amused. Then Lucifer dropped Sam's and his eyes became distant. Castiel's did the same. They bore the familiar expressions of being tuned into angel radio.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Demonic signs," Lucifer said, coming back to himself. "The angels are questioning them. I should investigate."

It was rare of demon signs to alert them since Lucifer and Sam had returned from the cage. Lucifer had essentially taken control of Crowley, and he in turn controlled the demons.

"I'll go," Castiel offered. "You and Sam have only just reunited. I will check them and you and Sam will be free to…"—he glanced at Dean as if for confirmation as he said—"bump nasties."

Dean choked on is beer and sputtered. "Cas, man, there are things we don't talk about around other people!"

Lucifer addressed Castiel. "That is very considerate of you, Castiel. I would be grateful if you would."

Castiel nodded and disappeared with a faint flutter.

Sam rounded on Dean and said. "Seriously, Dean? Bump nasties!"

Dean shrugged. "You know what Cas is like. Say a thing once and he'll pick it up like a kid."

"The fact you said it once is what bothers me," Sam said.

Lucifer laid a hand on his arm, and Sam calmed. It was a helluva trick, settling Sam like that. Bobby wished they had something similar that would work on Dean.

"I'm hungry," Dean announced.

"There's a pantry full of food," Bobby said. "Fix yourself something."

"Awesome, canned chili again," he grumbled.

Bobby pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Next time you can shop, and then you'll have all you like to eat here ready for you."

"I'll get us something," Sam said, dragging his eyes from Lucifer's with a regretful smile.

"That's more like it," Dean said. "Burger please."

Bobby chuckled as Sam's mouth pressed into a thin line. "How about we venture out of your staple diet and try something new?"

If you mean that leafy crap you eat, no," Dean said. "I'll stick with real food."

"Steak?" Sam offered.

Dean pretended to consider. "It'll do, I suppose."

Sam snorted. "I can always stop by McDonalds on the way back from the store if you prefer?"

"No!" Dean said quickly. "Steak will be great, especially if you make that sauce. You are going to make that sauce, right? I did almost die today after all."

"What happened to you being ' _fine'?_ " Sam asked.

"I was cushioning the blow for the rest of you," Dean said shamelessly. "I didn't want you worried."

"Appreciate it," Sam said sardonically as he held out his hand. "Keys please."

Dean threw them and Sam caught them neatly then turned back to Lucifer. "You up for a trip for the store?" He asked the question as if he didn't already know Lucifer would follow him to the ends of the earth and not complain.

"Of course," Lucifer said serenely, following Sam to the door and outside.

Bobby took a draw on his beer and leaned back in his chair smiling. The people he cared about were safe and happy around him, and life was good. You couldn't ask for much more.

* * *

Sam pushed the cart along the aisle and Lucifer looked at the shelves of products with a thoughtful expression. Sam nudged him with his elbow. "What are you thinking?"

"This is spaghetti sauce?" he asked picking up a jar of Ragu."

"Yeah," Sam said.

"But this is also spaghetti sauce," he said, pointing at a different jar. "And those, too."

"Uhuh. What's your question, Lucifer."

"Why are there so many different jars of the same thing? They all have different packaging, but they look the same inside."

Sam considered for a moment. "I guess we humans like choices. You're right, they're pretty much the same and taste very similar, but we like to pick what looks best."

"Before you taste it?"

Sam grinned. "We like pretty things. Welcome to advertising, Lucifer."

Lucifer rolled his eyes and muttered, "Humans," just as a matronly woman passed.

Sam laughed at her astonished face, wondering what she would say if she realized the man she thought was a little crazy was actually an archangel.

Lucifer smiled and took Sam's hand again. Pushing the cart one-handed along the aisle, Sam picked up ingredients for dinner and stowed them inside. When they came to the meat fridges, Lucifer turned his nose up. He would 'tolerate' pancakes and other reasonably plain foods, but he wouldn't even try meat. He didn't understand the attraction of eating flesh, no matter how often Dean extolled on its virtues.

Sam selected three steaks and put them in the cart then pushed on. By the time they got to the register, they had half filled the cart. Sam hadn't been able to resist getting some other fresh food in hopes that he could persuade Dean to eat something that didn't come with a side of grease while he stayed at Bobby's. Lucifer bagged the items as Sam counted out the bills and handed them over, then they headed out of the store. They loaded the bags into the trunk and set out.

On the drive back to Bobby's, Lucifer stared out of the window, occasionally glancing at Sam. Sam felt his cheeks warm every time their eyes met. Even after all this time, an eternity spent together in the Cage, Sam felt a thrill of happiness whenever Lucifer looked at him like that—like he was the prize instead of the other way around. It seemed impossible to Sam that he could have so much happiness after the gross crimes of his past.

When they got back to Bobby's, they found Dean's attention locked on a movie playing on the TV and Bobby on the phone.

"Yeah, Rufus, we're on it," he was saying. He paused to listen for a moment and then said. "No, _Lucifer_ is here. Castiel went to go have a look. Now, if you don't mind, I've got better things to do that listen to you bitch. Call when you're caught up with the rest of us." He slammed the phone down with a scowl.

"What's up with Rufus?" Sam asked.

"He thinks Satan is riling up the demons," Lucifer said before Bobby could speak.

"You're not Satan," Sam growled. He hated the names Lucifer had shed long ago: Satan, Devil, Serpent. "You're Lucifer."

"To most people that's one and the same," Lucifer said.

"Well screw most people," Sam said viciously.

Bobby and Dean looked surprised, but Lucifer looked serene as he leaned forward and kissed Sam's lips chastely. "That you know the difference is enough for me."

Sam felt himself calming and he smiled ruefully. "Okay. Right. I still say Rufus is uninvited come Thanksgiving."

"Deal," Dean said quickly. "Now, are you going to cook or do I have to make my own food?"

"I'll cook," Sam said, unloading the bags. Lucifer stowed things in cupboards and Sam set to work crushing the peppercorns for the sauce.

Lucifer finished the last of the unpacking and stood behind Sam with his chin resting on Sam's shoulder as Sam began to chop the shallots. He traced his fingers along Sam's side and whispered in his ear. "I missed you while you were gone."

"We were only gone a few days, Lucifer," Sam said.

"Even moments away from you feel like a lifetime. I'm still not comfortable with you and Dean hunting alone. What if something was to happen to you?"

"You're only ever a prayer away," Sam said.

"Always." Lucifer spun him around, away from the counter, and said, "I will always come when you call."

Sam smiled and then caught Dean's grimace as he went back to his movie. "Worse than a damn chick flick," he muttered, turning his attention back to Arnold Schwarzenegger as he impaled a man on a steam pipe.

Sam knew not to take him too seriously now. He had mostly gotten over his issues with Sam and Lucifer, as long as Sam kept their personal life to himself—as Castiel's comment about bumping nasties proved. Though he would never say it, Sam knew Dean was happy he had found the person that completed him.

He extricated himself from Lucifer's arms with regret and turned back to the counter to continue cooking. Then he heard Lucifer's voice, strained, as it called his name. He turned, "What's…?" The question died on his lips as he saw Lucifer being ripped from the room in a burst of white light. He reached for him, but it was already too late. Lucifer was gone.

* * *

 **So… What do you think? Going to be an interesting read? This one has more twists and turns than I think you've ever read from me before. That has been criticized before, so I am giving you a heads up. It's going to be a twisty, turny, bumpy ride. I really hope you enjoy it with me.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	3. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy fot beta'ing this for me, and Gredelina1 for all your help and support. Thank you for reviewing and supporting the story.**

 **Chapter Two**

Dean was as content as it was possible to be. He had good food coming his way, he'd saved some lives, and he had a good movie to watch. If only Sam and Lucifer would keep it down as they made goo-goo eyes at each other in the kitchen, life would be great.

Then, as so often happened in the world of the Winchesters, everything went to shit.

He heard Lucifer saying Sam's name in a strained voice, and he turned from his movie in time to see the archangel being ripped from the room in a flash of white light.

He had a moment to think, _What the fuck?_ beforelogic caught up with him. Lucifer was their strongest fighter and he had just been taken out, which meant they were under attack.

He leaped to his feet and rushed into the kitchen, half hoping that he was going to find Lucifer lurking in a corner somewhere, just out of sight. He wasn't there. The only one that remained in there was a stunned looking Sam, his eyes roving the room and his voice weak as he said, "Lucifer?"

Bobby skidded up behind Dean and slapped a gun into his hand. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

"Banishing sigil," Dean said, checking the gun's clip and sliding it back into place. He took the demon knife from his jacket pocket where it hung on the chair and handed it to Sam with a harsh, "Heads up, Sam."

Sam nodded, seeming to snap back to himself at least partially. He was still reeling from the sudden banishment of his lover, but he was at least armed and apparently coming back to a warrior headspace.

Bobby raised his antique pistol and said, "So, one of you going to move or shall I take a photo?"

Dean ran a hand through his hair and tried to calm down enough to focus his mind. "If someone just banished Lucifer, then they aren't here for hugs. We need to find them and find them fast. Upstairs, Sam!" He knew that was the least likely place to find their attacker, as few things could make it through the warding Bobby had surrounding his house, and Sam was their weakest link at the moment, out of his head with worry for Lucifer and as impetuous as he always was. "Watch your back. We don't know who or what is out there."

Sam nodded and made for the hall. Dean heard him running up the stairs to the second floor. "Basement?" he asked Bobby and received a nod in return as he turned and walked into the hall.

He gripped his gun tightly and walked to the door. Bright light seemed to blind him as soon as he stepped outside. He shielded his eyes and let them adjust before looking around again. What he saw was unlike anything he'd seen before in his long and varied life. Hundreds of brilliant lights were streaking up through the sky, like miniature suns.

He stared at them for a moment, transfixed, and then snapped back to himself and stuck his head back inside, shouting, "Sam! Bobby! Get out here. I think you need to see this for yourselves."

After a moment, there was the sound of running footsteps and Bobby burst out onto the porch, Sam right behind him. They both reacted to the light, shielding their eyes, and then Bobby sucked in a breath.

"Holy shit," he whispered. "Okay, so not just us under attack, but the world."

"Or the angels," Dean said apologetically, fixing his gaze on Sam whose eyes were wide and bright, telling Dean that he wasn't completely holding on. Not wanting to make it worse, he said, "Whatever this is, Sammy, we'll fix it. We'll get him back."

Sam turned those disconcerting eyes to Dean and said in a strained voice, "How? We don't even know what's happening. What if he can't get back? What if something's trapped him? Oh, God, what if he's dead?"

"Stop!" Dean said harshly. "He's not dead. He's an archangel, for crap's sake. Unless he and Gabriel have decided to throw down, there's nothing that can kill him. This isn't a battle we're seeing here. It's…"

"What?" Sam asked. "What is it, Dean?"

He was desperate for an answer, but Dean had none to give. He was at a loss for what to say. Whatever it was that had taken Lucifer, it had obviously been targeted at more than just him. He didn't have a clue what was powerful enough to do that to an archangel though.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But we'll find out. We'll work it like we always do. We need to hit the books."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. Dean understood the message. What did Dean think they were going to get out of a book? "And you can look online, Sam," he said. "See how far reaching this is. Is it just local, or the country, or…"

"The world," Sam finished. "Do you think it can really be all of them?"

Dean looked back at the sky. The lights were trailing off now, disappearing into the clouds. "I think it's possible."

"Castiel!" Bobby said suddenly.

Dean immediately felt guilty. He had been so consumed by Sam and his loss that he hadn't thought of his friend.

"Castiel!" he shouted. "Cas, man."

"Call him," Bobby instructed.

"What d'ya think I'm doing?" Dean asked irritably.

"On his _cell,_ idjit," Bobby said. "Whatever happened out there, it might be affecting his ability to hear us."

Dean grabbed his cell from his jacket pocket and hit the speed dial assigned to Castiel. It rang for a long time before Castiel's voice answered. He sounded tremulous and afraid. The sound chilled Dean as he had never heard the angel sound like that before. _"Dean?"_

"Cas, man, are you okay?"

" _No,"_ Castiel said. _"I'm not. I don't know what to do."_

"Come to Bobby's. Me and Sam are here. We can help you."

" _I can't, Dean,"_ he moaned. _"I am stuck. I can't fly."_

"Where are you?" Dean asked, calmness taking over in the face of his friend's distress.

" _I don't know. There is a sign. It says I-25."_

"Anything else?" Dean asked hopefully. As it was they had a stretch of road that went on for hundreds of miles.

" _There's a smaller sign that says 285."_

"Okay," Dean said. "We're coming for you. Stay where you are."

" _I will_. _Please, Dean, hurry."_

The broken note to his friend's voice scared him. "We will," Dean said. "Just hang on, okay?"

" _Yes,"_ Castiel said, though his tone sounded doubtful.

Dean set the phone down and ran a hand through his hair.

"Well?" Bobby prompted. "Where is he?"

"He's on I-25, mile marker 285," Dean said.

"What happened to him?" Bobby asked.

"I don't know. We need to go get him though. He can't get back here on his own."

"Why not?"

"I don't know!" Dean said angrily. "He just said he couldn't fly."

He couldn't think what would keep Castiel from being able to fly. Even during the time of the apocalypse, when he'd been fallen, he'd been able to fly. He didn't want to think too hard about it either. The possible answers scared him.

Bobby moved to the computer and tapped at the keys for a moment. "Hell. He's in Santa Fe. That's a day's drive away."

Dean groaned. "We can't leave him there that long!"

"You think I don't know that?" Bobby growled.

"Stop!" Sam suddenly shouted. "This isn't helping!"

"Sam…" Dean said consolingly.

"No!" he snapped. "We need to get Castiel here. He'll know what happened. He'll know how to get Lucifer back."

"We will," Dean said. "But we're a day's drive away from Cas, and he can't just wait there for us. He sounded messed up."

"Crowley," Sam said, a slightly manic look in his eyes. "He can get him."

"Yes!" Dean said. "Good. That's good, Sammy."

Sam didn't appear to be listening. Muttering to himself in what sounded like Enochian, he went to Bobby's liquor cabinet and pushed aside the bottles to get to the various other things Bobby kept there for their line of work. He pulled out candles and a copper bowl. Dean quickly went to the kitchen drawer and began to gather the other herbs and ingredients they would need for the summoning. Sam set the candles up on the table in a circle and snatched Dean's offerings out of his hands. He quickly tipped out the bags into the bowl and chalked in a symbol on the tabletop. All the while he muttered under his breath. Dean only understood one word among the stream of Enochian: Lucifer.

Sam pulled his penknife from his back pocket and before Dean could say more than, "Sam, let me…" he had cut a deep gash across his palm and held it over the bowl to drip blood onto the ingredients. He lit a matchbook awkwardly and dropped it into the bowl as he recited, _"Et ad congregandom. Eos coram me."_

Flames rushed up and Dean yanked Sam out of their path. He grabbed a cloth from the counter and wrapped it around Sam's palm. "What the hell, Sam?" he said irritably. "Were you trying to cut all the way through?" Sam didn't even flinch.

A throat was cleared in front of them as Crowley appeared. "Hello, boys," he said. "What can I do for you today?"

"Where's Lucifer?" Sam asked at once.

"I don't know," Crowley said, raising an eyebrow. "You seem upset, Moose. What's up?"

"You're telling me you didn't see the lightshow?" Dean asked.

Crowley looked genuinely confused. "I've been downstairs taking care of some errands your boyfriend set me up with. I don't know what's been happening topside."

"Lucifer was taken," Sam said, his voice shaking. "Then the sky was filled with orbs of light going to the clouds."

"Oh," Crowley looked genuinely shocked. "I missed that. Wow. Not sure what to say. I have no idea what's going on."

"We need you to go and get Castiel," Bobby said impatiently. "He's here." He tapped the point on the map displayed on the laptop screen.

"Happy to," Crowley said. "But why can't he get himself here?"

"We don't know," Dean admitted. "But he can't. So go get him, bring him back here, and we'll find out."

"Absolutely," Crowley said. "Be right back."

He disappeared, and Dean tightened his hold on the cloth covering Sam's bleeding hand. It was soaking through. The dumb kid had cut deep.

He was gone only a matter of minutes, but Dean felt every second. When Crowley appeared back in the center of the library with Castiel standing beside him, looking disheveled, strained, and with a bloody neck, his heart skipped.

"Cas! Are you okay? What happened to you?"

Castiel shook his head dolefully and fixed his eyes on Sam who was still muttering to himself. "I am sorry, Sam," he said somberly. "He cannot answer you."

Sam jerked his hand out of Dean's hold and walked toward Castiel, dropping the bloody cloth to the floor. His hands fisted and blood dripped between his fingers, spattering the floor.

"Why not?" he asked in a deadly voice. "What did you do?"

"Because I… I didn't know… I didn't mean… But he's gone. They're all trapped now."

Sam snapped out his fist and slammed it into Castiel's jaw. Dean had once stabbed Castiel, he and Bobby had both shot him, and he hadn't seemed remotely affected. The only time he had been hurt was the horrific time a leviathan shoved its fist through him, killing him dead. Castiel had always been fine, but now, under the impact of Sam's fist, a human's, he stumbled back and clutched at his face with stunned eyes.

Sam looked like he was going in for a second punch, and Dean and Bobby lurched forward, each grabbing an arm to hold him back. It wasn't easy, as Sam was like a man possessed, fighting and raging against them. Dean torqued his arm up behind him in a half-nelson, high enough to be causing Sam serious pain, but he still struggled.

"Stop, Sam!" Dean growled in his ear. "Wait."

He wasn't sure what he meant when he said wait—wait to hear what Castiel had done before pounding on him maybe—but it didn't work regardless. Sam continued to fight him.

"Crowley!" Dean snapped. "A little help?"

"Want me to knock him out?" Crowley asked helpfully.

"Just stop him," Bobby said through his teeth as he worked to hold Sam back.

Crowley walked around the reeling Castiel and took Sam's arms from Dean and Bobby. He held Sam as if it was no more effort than holding a door for someone, though Sam continued to strain away from him. Dean stepped toward Castiel, his hands raised in front of him, and said, "What did you do, Cas?"

Castiel looked stricken. "I found the place the demon signs were located. It was some kind of hotel resort. I arrived into a storm, and I was looking for the demons, when something happened. I was uninjured, and could see no one else there, but suddenly everything went dark, and when I woke…"

* * *

When Castiel woke, the first thing he noticed was how light he felt. It was as he had been hollowed, making him light as air. The second was that his neck burned as if he was wounded. He brought a hand up to his throat and felt wetness there. When he looked, he saw a smear of blood on his fingertips.

He was sitting on some kind of reclined chair and there was a bright light trained on his face. He blinked and tried to see past it into the rest of the room, but he couldn't until the light was moved back and his vision was filled by a bearded face with hazel eyes that peered at him maliciously.

"Hello, Castiel."

"Who are you?" Castiel asked.

"Oh, of course," the man said. "You wouldn't be able to _see_ me anymore."

Castiel frowned. He could see the man, and that was what he was; there was no presence beneath the face as there would be with a demon or angel.

He tried to get out of the chair, but the man held him down with a hand on his chest, a hand that should not have the strength to restrain him.

"Did you enjoy your nap?" the man asked. "Little trick I learned from my old boss. Puts angels out like a light for a good hour."

How could a human know a way to incapacitate an angel? What kind of 'boss' could have that knowledge, even a demon or angel? Castiel had never heard of such a weapon or ability.

"Who are you?" he asked again.

"Stuck on that, aren't you?" He laughed. "I'll give you an answer in return for one of my own. Quid pro quo as Lecter would say. First things first, I hear you've hitched your wagon to Satan. I want to know why an angel such as you, once a great leader of a garrison, would do that?"

"Lucifer is not Satan now," Castiel said quickly. "He's changed. He is an archangel in the pure sense again."

"I heard something like that," he said. "Didn't think it could be true though. Tell me, how does it feel for the garrisons to take orders from the Morningstar?"

"It's my turn," Castiel said.

The man bowed politely. "Go ahead. What is your pleasure?"

"Who are you?" Castiel asked.

"I am Metatron."

Castiel's mouth dropped open. "That's not possible." If it was Metatron, Castiel would be able to see his true face. He would see the angel within the vessel. He would hear his true voice, not this human imitation.

"My question," he said. "How does it feel for the garrisons to bow to him?"

"Some accepted it because they had no choice at first. Others knew his penance was real straight away. He has proven himself though, leaving Earth and Sam to be in Heaven when he was needed."

"Yes, Sam Winchester, I understand. What's he like?"

"My turn," Castiel said. "Why can I not see your true face?"

The man laughed hard. "You mean you haven't worked it out? You cannot see angels because you are not an angel anymore, Castiel."

Castiel felt his heart increasing its pace in his chest. The feeling was aggravating as it seemed to bump against his ribs, and wrong because it was not his nature as an angel to react to stress physically. It was a human's. "No," he breathed. "It's not possible."

"What's Sam Winchester like, Castiel?" he asked, ignoring Castiel's words.

"He is a good and kind man," Castiel said, the words bitten off and angry. "He loves Lucifer with everything he has. What have you done to me?"

He laughed again, the sound set Castiel's teeth on edge. "I took a little something from you," he said. "Well, not a _little_ something. It was actually your whole state of being."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass vial. Inside was swirling white light. It almost hurt Castiel's eyes to look at it. It also scared him.

"This, Castiel, is your grace. Recognize it?"

Castiel felt warmth rising in his throat, bitter heat that burned, and he leaned over the side of the chair and vomited. He spat and coughed as he tried to clear his mouth of the foul taste.

"Why have you done this?" he rasped.

"My question. How does it feel to lose everything you've ever known and become one of the grubbing humans?"

"It hurts," Castiel said honestly. "Why did you do this?"

"Because I could? Because you _deserved_ it. Because everything I knew and loved was stolen from me. Because it is my right as the scribe to put into use what I learned from Him. My question now. What exactly is it you think I've done?"

"You have doomed me," Castiel said bitterly.

"Oh, Castiel, you think this is about you? It truly isn't. You just seemed like the right angel for the job. You see this, taking your grace, was the last in a series of tasks required to do something magnificent. I have closed Heaven's gates. Every angel that was on earth has been dragged home. Every angel that was in Heaven has heard the gate slam closed. Lucifer, Gabriel, every angel that lives, has been sent into an eternal time-out. It's brilliant, right?"

Castiel closed his eyes and the first tear he had ever shed slipped down his cheek.

* * *

"He took your grace?" Dean asked in a stunned voice, his mind reeling.

"Yes," Castiel said. "I am human."

Bobby ran a hand over his slack face. "I'm sorry, Cas."

Castiel shook his head and looked at Sam. "I'm sorry. I am truly sorry for what I have done."

"It's hardly your fault," Dean said. "Is it, Sam?"

He fixed his eyes on Sam, but Sam didn't seemed to notice. He was hanging limp in Crowley's arms now, seemingly with no fight left in him. He was still muttering in Enochian though.

"Sammy?" he said, concerned.

Sam didn't look up.

"What's he saying?" He directed his words to Castiel, as he and Sam were the only ones there that spoke or understood Enochian.

"He's praying," Castiel said regretfully.

Dean felt a surge of pain work through him. Sam was praying, surely to Lucifer, and Lucifer couldn't answer. The impact of what had happened settled over him. Castiel human. All angels trapped in Heaven. No Lucifer or Gabriel to help them. Sam without his lover. The last time Sam and Lucifer had been parted, Sam had dived into Hell to be with him again, leaving Dean behind.

"Let him go, Crowley," he said.

Crowley released Sam and he staggered forward a step before getting his feet under him. Dean took his arm and led him to the table. He pulled a chair around in front of him and said, "Can you get me something to stitch this up, Bobby?"

"Sure." Bobby retrieved the first aid kit from under the sink and brought it and a bowl of water to Dean then busied himself at the freezer for a moment before saying, "Get this on your jaw, Cas," as he handed him an icepack.

Dean pulled Sam's bloody hand onto his lap and dipped a swab into the water and began to wipe away the blood. Sam didn't even flinch, not even when Dean poured peroxide over the wound and then pinched it closed to stitch it up.

He talked incessantly at his brother while he did it, reassurances and questions that he didn't expect to be answered. All the while, Sam muttered his prayer to Lucifer. Dean was forcibly reminded of the days after Lucifer's sacrifice, when Sam drifted from room to room like a shadow of his old self. He was terrified that this reaction was a portent to the same. Sam had gone to Hell to be with Lucifer before. He couldn't do that again, so what would he do this time? Had they rescued him from the Cage only to lose him to his own mind?

Dean was scared.

* * *

Lucifer felt something wrapping around him and tugging. He didn't have time to say more than Sam's name before he was yanked away. For a moment he was weightless, and then his feet crashed into the floor, jarring up his knees and making his head rock. He felt disoriented and shaky, a feeling he had never experienced before.

He knew at once where he was by the warmth in the air and low hum resonating in his mind. It had always been a peaceful feeling, the sound of Heaven, but it felt wrong now. _He_ felt wrong. He didn't want to be here. He needed to with Sam, his true home.

Heaven was not the peaceful place it had almost always been before. There seemed to be so many more angels there than was usual. They were clamoring around him, speaking in fearful voices and demanding help and information from each other. It was chaotic.

Lucifer felt them crowding in on him and he brushed them aside, trying to make sense of what had happened to him. They moved, but new ones took their place, asking him for guidance and assistance. He had nothing to give. He understood what had happened no more than they did. He was just as lost.

"Stop!" he commanded, as an angel tugged on his arm.

"What is happening, Lucifer?" he asked.

"I don't know," Lucifer said, brushing past him.

He made it through the crowd by force and the sheer size of his true form. None of them seemed to see him coming, at least they didn't move away. He knocked some of the most persistent aside roughly with his hands. When he had space at last, he spread his wings. At least he tried to. They were curled in at his back, and they were frozen. He strained against them, but they would move budge. He was trapped. He could not fly. If he could not fly, how could he get back?

He rushed away, through the angels, to the gates. Some angels were already there, and he bellowed at them to move. They obeyed, perhaps hearing the danger in his true voice.

As he reached them, he extended his hand confidently to push them open. If he could not fly back to Sam, he would fall instead. It was possible, though painful, but no fear of pain held him back. He was thinking only of Sam's pain, how scared he must be with Lucifer ripped away from him.

The gates did not move though. They were firmly closed. There was no lock or bolt on the gate, they always stood ready to greet the souls and allow entrance, but they were immovable now, without even an iota of give.

Lucifer's clenched fists came up and hammered on them, beating against their cruel barring. They clanged loudly, but did not open or even rattle. There were totally impenetrable.

His head dropped to lean against them and, defeated, he groaned. He was trapped.

He leaned against the gates a long time before he recognized the new sound in his mind aside from the hum of angel voices. It was Sam. He was crying out in Enochian.

" _Lucifer, what happened? Come back. I need you. Please, come back to me."_

Lucifer's heart burned for him. He could hear the fear and desperation in Sam's voice. He sounded so scared, and it made Lucifer's arms ache to hold him. He felt hollowed. Empty. He had been taken from the other side of himself and he no longer knew how to cope without Sam, especially while knowing he was hurting.

" _Lucifer, please."_

* * *

 **So… What do you think? This chapter took a different turn to the initial outline, but I think I prefer it to what was planned originally.**

 **A version of this Heaven scene was written by Snarkymuch. While I rewrote it completely, there may be some bleed between the two versions.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	4. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy. All the work you do on these chapters is much appreciated. Thank you also Gredelina1 for helping, supporting, and encouraging. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Three**_

Sam was still desperately praying when Gabriel arrived. Lucifer tore himself out of his own mind to speak to his brother. "What has happened?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Gabriel said. "How come we've suddenly got thousands of extra angels hanging around up here? Because I remember us ordering most of the garrisons to protect the earth. What happened to you?"

"I was with Sam," he started.

"Obviously," Gabriel inserted.

"And I felt something drag me away. There was a flash of light, like a banishing, but it felt different. I was dragged here instead of being cast away. When I arrived, it was chaos, and I tried to fly, but my wings are trapped at my back. I can't spread them at all."

"Okay," Gabriel said slowly. "That tallies up with what I've got going on, too. I was already here when things went south. There was an almighty bang like a dinner gong as the gates slammed and then it was like an earthquake was rocking us as everyone started arriving at once."

"What could have done it?" Lucifer asked.

"No idea. We'll have to stick a pin in that question, though, and come back to it when we've sorted the rest of this rodeo. We've got _thousands_ of angels freaking out right now, and we need to find a way to help them."

"Help _them_?" Lucifer asked. "Tell me you are joking."

"I'm not joking. We have a responsibility, Lucifer, to them all. I need your help to calm them down. It's chaos right now, and it's only a matter of time until that spreads to the souls. We cannot let complete anarchy erupt."

Lucifer laughed harshly. "What do you expect me to do, Gabriel? How can I calm them when I am not calm myself?"

"Fake it till you make it," Gabriel suggested then shook his head. "I don't know, Lucifer. I just know you have to. We are archangels, and like it or not, that means we have to take care of the others and help them."

"You think I care about them?" Lucifer snapped. "I can hear Sam calling to me. He is crying out for me, and I cannot go to him. What do the other angels' needs matter compared to his? He is in pain, Gabriel! He is suffering and scared."

He raised his hands. "I'm sorry, but we have to do what we can. We need to know what is happening if we're going to get out, and one of them might know something. We're not going to get anywhere with them running around like headless chickens."

Lucifer flinched as Sam cried out again, his voice tearing into him. "Sam," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, Lucifer, but at least you can hear him. He is alive. That is cause for celebration."

"The fact I cannot reach him is not," Lucifer bit out.

"I know," Gabriel said. "But you've got to concentrate on controlling what you can. It's the only way you can make it through this, Lucifer."

"And Sam? What will help him get through it?" He was pleading for an answer.

"Dean," Gabriel said. "You're going to have to put your trust in him."

As Gabriel walked away, clearly expecting him to follow, Lucifer shook his head. He couldn't do that.

* * *

After a time, Gabriel managed to calm the angels to dull panic instead of outright terror. Lucifer heard him speaking on angel radio, comforting them and reminding them of their responsibilities. He sent them to check the souls in their heavens. His outward reasoning was to make sure they had not lost any of them before the gates slammed closed. Lucifer knew it was just busy work though, given to distract them and give them something to focus on to make them feel useful again. It kept their minds off of their fear.

Gabriel came back to Lucifer where he leaned, forehead pressed against the gates. He didn't try to persuade Lucifer to help, he merely stood with him. Lucifer suspected he was trying to offer comfort with his presence. It wasn't working though. Lucifer had not felt this way since he had been forced to go back to the Cage alone, leaving Sam behind, to avoid the battle with Michael.

Time passed of nothing and then Lucifer heard a cry of pain. He looked up at Gabriel and saw he looked just as confused. The cry came again, agitating and upsetting.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't…" Gabriel's eyes widened. "Look!"

Lucifer followed his gaze and saw he was staring through the bars of the gate. There was light out there, in the mist of the veil. It was approaching close enough to touch the gate and then propelling away again.

"It's a soul," he whispered.

Gabriel gasped. "It can't get in!"

The soul rushed at the gates again and was forced back. The sight was sickening, the desperation and confusion it radiated as it tried and failed to reach its eternal resting place.

Lucifer turned away from the sight. "The gates are closed to souls as well," he said darkly.

"Yes!" Gabriel said, "And you know what that means? They are all going to be trapped in the Veil. There will be millions of vengeful spirits created. The Veil will be in chaos!" He stared past Lucifer. "There are more."

Lucifer forced himself to look back and saw the new souls arriving. They made the same attempt to enter and were repelled. He couldn't watch. It was twisted and wrong; those souls deserved peace.

He saw an angel approaching, and he tried to ignore the sounds of distressed souls behind him.

"Gabriel, Lucifer," she said. "There is something wrong."

Lucifer snorted in spite of himself. That was possibly the biggest understatement he had ever heard.

"What is it, Rachel?" Gabriel asked.

"It is Castiel. We cannot find him."

Lucifer straightened. "What do you mean?"

"No one has seen him since before _it_ happened."

"He was going to check the demon signs," Lucifer said quietly. "Did anyone speak to him?"

"No one I have asked. I have checked his preferred heaven, but there is no sign of him there at all, and he is not answering me on angel radio. I don't think he is here."

"Do you think he could have been killed?" Gabriel asked carefully.

Lucifer shook his head briskly. "No. Castiel is a powerful warrior. No mere demon could have beaten him."

"Some of them have angel blades since the time of the Leviathans rising," Gabriel said. "It's possible."

"No!" he said roughly. He didn't want to think it even. "He is here. It's chaos, impossible to find any one angel in the melee. We must find him." He closed his eyes and address angel radio, knowing his voice would be heard in every trapped angel's mind. "Castiel is missing. You will find him now. Search everywhere. Bring him to me when he is found."

This was something he could do as it served Sam as well as himself. He needed to find his friend, Sam's friend, as that was something he could control. For the first time he pushed Sam from his thoughts and concentrated on something else.

Finding Castiel.

* * *

Crowley had a problem. He didn't like problems, he liked solutions. Problems were annoying and got in the way of enjoying a perfectly good massage.

"Sire," the demon said querulously. "May I speak with you?"

"Can't it wait…" He grappled for the name. "Ambrose?"

"Actually, it's Robert, sire. And I think you'll want to hear this."

Crowley sighed and rolled off the massage table. He wrapped a robe around himself and collapsed onto the plush chair in the corner. He waved a hand at the terrified looking masseuse and she scurried from the room.

"Talk."

The demon bowed low, as if he was going to offer obeisance by kissing Crowley's ring. Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. He could get a ring. A nice one. Something with a big gaudy stone. He quite liked the idea in fact.

"Myself and some others were in Montana," he said. "Just going about our business, massacring some teens, when we were set upon by an angel."

Crowley shook his head. "You're wrong."

"I'm certain I am not, sire."

"No, you are, because the only angel currently flapping around earth is Metatron, and we're besties."

"I don't know what to tell you, sire. It was definitely an angel; he was in a rather unfortunate looking vessel."

"Squat little toad, curly hair and beard?"

"Yes, sire."

"That does sound like my bestie." Crowley frowned. "Did you do something to annoy him perhaps?"

The demon shrugged. "We were massacring a church group. That's never seemed to bother the angels before though."

"True." Crowley tapped his chin. "How many were lost?"

"Thirteen, sire."

"Unlucky for some," he said with a snort of laughter. "And yet you escaped. How?"

"The angel was distracted beheading Juliet, and I managed to flee."

"Beheading," he said interestedly. "I like his style at least. Okay, Ambrose…"

"Robert, sire," he corrected, and then quickly went on in response to Crowley's dark look, "Or Ambrose. Either is fine."

"I know," Crowley said pointedly. "Well, _Ambrose,_ you are not going to tell anyone else about this, understand?"

"Of course, sire. Whatever you wish."

Crowley waved an airy hand to dismiss him. He didn't take the hint though. He remained standing there with a dumb look on his face.

"Leave," Crowley said, and he backed away obediently and left the room.

"I need smarter demons," he said to the empty room. Truly, the ones he had at the moment were dumb as a box of rocks. Why was it the smart ones ended up in Heaven while he got the idiots? Not that anyone was ending up in Heaven anymore. Metatron had assured him that the gates were firmly shut, keeping new souls out as well as caging the angels in. Which Crowley thought meant he would have access to a better type of departed now. That thought excited him. He could sort through the dregs and work extra hard on the intellects. It might also be fun. He'd also never tortured a potential saint before.

"You can come back now," he called, and his talented masseuse slipped back into the room. He slid the robe from his shoulders and lay down on the table again. "Get to it then."

As he lay there, having his muscles skillfully kneaded, he mulled the problem over in his mind. Perhaps Metatron had taken umbrage at the Christian deaths. He'd been out of the loop for a long time, so he could still hold affection for the devout. Crowley would monitor the situation. If it became a problem, he'd pop in for a chat with the little squit. Until then, he would enjoy the perks of being a king in the truest sense. With no Lucifer breathing down his neck anymore, Crowley was the boss.

Life was good.

* * *

Crowley lolled in his throne and waited for his reports. It had been a while since he'd heard them, as he'd been taking a little personal time lately. The throne room was empty and he relished the peace. Demons were famously annoying. They hung onto his every word, of course, and obeyed commands, but so did a well-trained dog.

Time dragged though, and he began to get bored. He wanted some devout service paid to him.

"Ambrose! Here, boy." He laughed at his own wit.

A female demon scuttled into the room, her eyes wide with fear. It wasn't a familiar face, and he guessed it was the first time she had been graced with a king's audience.

"You're not Ambrose. Or Robert," he said. "Where is he?"

"I don't know, sire."

"In that case where is Cuthbert?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Okay, what about Sybil? Or that one that looks like little orphan Annie? Or the big one?" The first flames of unease began to lick at his chest.

"Sire, I think they've gone. We have been searching, but they don't appear to be anywhere within the pit or topside. There is an almost total lack of demon signs on earth, and no one has seen them below."

"Who's left?" Crowley asked.

"Me, sire. And a few others that are searching topside."

"Why wasn't I told about this?" Crowley growled.

"Forgive me, sire, but you said no interruptions."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "And none of you thought that the disappearance of my demons was worth interrupting me for?"

"None of us wanted to be killed, sire."

"No one wants that," Crowley said with feigned sympathy. "Come here." The demon edged forward nervously and Crowley stood to meet her. He clapped a fatherly hand on her shoulder and drew her close. "I really should have been told," he said mildly.

""I am sorry, sire. I will not make the mistake again."

"No," Crowley said, as he slid the hilt of an angel blade into her chest. "You won't."

The demon's head flew back and light flared around the wound and on her face. When Crowley released it, the body thudded to the floor.

He knew he had just denied himself another of what was apparently a rapidly dwindling supply of demons, but the little mouse had been next to useless anyway.

* * *

Crowley found Metatron watching a show at Circus Circus in Las Vegas. He was sitting forward in his chair, his face mesmerized by the humans performing on trapezes.

"Metatron," Crowley said in what he hoped was a respectful tone.

"Crowley," he said, waving him into a seat. "Come and look at this. Have you ever seen anything like it? It's like they're flying up there. And don't get me started on the high wire. It's incredible. What possessed the first one to try it, I wonder. Were they drunk or merely suicidal?" He shook his head. "Human creativity has come on so much and I didn't realize. I thought the written word was magical—until the last decade that is—but this… it's amazing."

Crowley watched the human swinging back and forth and then release the bar, reaching for another. It was a simple matter of flicking his hand to make the human drop hard to the floor. There was a satisfying crack as it collided, and it immediately stilled.

"I was watching that!" Metatron protested. "That was rude."

Crowley leaned back in his seat, the picture of relaxation. "Some might say decimating my demons is rude, too."

"Ah, you finally noticed, did you? About time too. What kind of king are you? Lucifer would have noticed straight away, even from the Cage."

"I was busy," Crowley lied resentfully. He didn't want to be compared to that do-gooder.

"I'm sure," Metatron said patiently. "You're right though. I have been taking out the trash as it were."

"Why?" Crowley asked.

"They have no place anymore," Metatron said. "They're abominations. The unclean. Ruined manifestations of God's work. When I create the perfect paradise for myself, among select humans, of course, I will want it to be a clean and pleasant place, and demons are neither of those things."

"And yet you failed to mention that when we were plotting against Lucifer and the angels," Crowley bit out.

"Well, yes, I thought you'd be a little less motivated to help had you known. Obviously, I was right. Here you are, all puffed up and deluded with your assumed power."

Crowley's hands fisted. "I am King!"

"Kings have subjects," Metatron said. "You have nothing. Well, almost nothing. I want to catch the evening show and then I'll finish up." He turned away from the chaos on the stage at last and said. "I did you a service, Crowley. You wanted revenge on Lucifer for enslaving you, and I trapped him and every other angel in creation."

"I helped you, too," Crowley growled. "I brought you the saint to bleed, I delivered the Grigori sword. I did what I was supposed to. I even lured that oaf Castiel to New Mexico for you."

"You're right, I couldn't have done it without you. And in return, I am going to do you a favor. You can return to Hell, lord it over the demons that preside over the racks and the souls, and I will leave you alone. I'll let you play with your toys, and in return, you will stay out of my way."

"And if I don't?" Crowley asked.

"Then I will end you, slowly," he threatened. "Now, stay and die, or go. I don't mind which you choose, as long as you're gone. I'm sick of the stink of sulfur."

Crowley glared balefully at him. Metatron moved his hand awkwardly and his blade slid into it.

"Your choice," he said.

With one last hateful look, Crowley disappeared. He knew what he had to do next, and he knew what it would take. Unfortunately, it meant going back to that den of alcoholism and misery—Bobby Singer's house.

He needed the damn Winchesters.

* * *

 **So… Metatron has screwed Crowley over royally, and now he needs help. Good times. Writing Metatron is an experience I've only had a few times before, and not for a while. It was fun to revisit the twisted land of his character.**

 ** **A version of this Heaven scene was written by Snarkymuch. While I rewrote it completely, there may be some bleed between the two versions.****

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	5. Chapter 4

**Massive hugs go to Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. She's got three of my stories on the go right now and she's juggling them like a pro. Also thanks to Gredelina1 who always supports and helps, even though Samifer really isn't her thing.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Rachel had told Lucifer that Castiel preferred the heaven of a man that had died in the fifties, so he started his search there. He scoured every inch of the beautiful park, unnoticed by the man flying his kite peacefully. He found no sign of Castiel, but as time passed, he grew more determined rather than disheartened. He _would_ find him. With every single angel searching, he had to be found.

He moved on from Castiel's preferred heaven to the halls and finally to the Axis Mundi, calling Castiel's name as he walked along the path that presented itself to him as an endless shore.

He searched for what seemed like forever—time had no meaning in Heaven—refusing to give up until Gabriel stepped in front of him, forcing him to momentarily halt.

"Brother," he said sadly.

"No," Lucifer said, skirting around him and continuing.

Gabriel fell into step at his side. "I am sorry."

"No! He is not."

"Every single angel has reported in. There is not a sign of him anywhere. Heavens have been searched and the halls scoured. No one saw him after the gates closed. He is not here. He must be dead."

"How?" Lucifer asked. "He would not be beaten by a demon, and you know it. He is too powerful."

"Against most, yes, but there are some that could defeat him. Despite the fact he essentially works for you, Crowley has the power of hell behind him. If he and Castiel were to come to blows, I cannot say confidently that Castiel would win. Battlefield experience aside, and how we care for him, he is not one of us. He is just one of the troops."

"Crowley would not defeat him. He may have some power, but it's not truly his. It only became his when I was dragged back here. And Castiel could not have died after the gates closed, as he would have been brought here with everyone else."

"Perhaps not Crowley," Gabriel agreed. "But there is one with more power than him, even without you restraining him."

Lucifer shook his head. "Cain would not kill an angel. He has retired himself from the fight. He lives peacefully now; I've checked on him. What would he have to gain?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Maybe he's making a comeback."

"I don't believe it."

"Is that because you don't want to?" Gabriel asked. "I'm sorry Lucifer, but I think we have to accept that he's dead."

Lucifer came to a dead stop and closed his eyes. He didn't want to accept it because it would mean Sam had not only lost him, but he had lost his friend, too.

He knew deep down that Gabriel was right, though. Castiel wasn't in heaven, and if he had been alive at the point the gates closed, he would have been pulled back with the rest of them. The only answer was that he hadn't been pulled back because he was truly dead. Perhaps he had been set upon by many demons. Perhaps it _had been_ Crowley. He didn't believe it was Cain. Whatever had happened, his friend was dead, and Lucifer could no longer displace his feelings on that. He had to face his shock, his pain…and Sam's.

For the first time since walking away from the locked gates, he opened his mind again to Sam fully, letting his voice fill his awareness after a long time of forcing it to be only a murmur in the back of his thoughts.

" _Lucifer, come back. I need you. I love you. Don't leave me again."_

The words were like a fiery brand in his heart, searing, agonizing, making him gasp. He couldn't cope with it. Sam needed him more than he ever had before, and there was nothing he could do trapped here…

Nothing he could do _while_ he was trapped here. He needed to get out. He had been wasting time focusing on Castiel when he should have been concentrating on freeing them all. He needed a way to break through the gates and get out.

He needed magic.

* * *

Dean woke just as dawn began to paint the sky. He rolled over and checked the other bed before remembering it would be empty, as Sam didn't stay there anymore. Every night he went back to the motel room he had shared with Lucifer, as if the archangel was going to be waiting for him.

He pushed himself up and raked his hands over his face. He felt physically exhausted, having gotten to bed long past midnight, when Sam had refused their invitation to stay and left for the motel. His mind was wide awake though, and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore, so he climbed out of bed and staggered out of the room to use the bathroom. When he was done, he brushed his teeth and splashed his face with water. Calling it good, he went into the bedroom and changed into a clean shirt and stuffed his feet into his boots.

He walked down the stairs, yawning widely. He thought it was going to take a couple cups of coffee for his body to catch up with his mind in the wakeful stakes. He saw artificial light burning under the door of the library.

He pushed open the door and saw Bobby sitting at the desk with cup of coffee in front of him and his eyes fixed on the table where Sam sat, his face bathed in the laptop's glow.

"Morning," he said to Bobby and then addressed Sam as he went to the counter to fetch himself a coffee. "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam didn't even look at him as he nodded.

"Been back long?" he asked, as if he was going to get an answer.

Sam just tapped at the keyboard and opened a new webpage.

"He's been here about an hour," Bobby said.

"Then you'll need a coffee," Dean said.

"Got a drink already," Sam said, touching his hand against a tumbler beside the keyboard.

"That better be water," Dean said, picking up the glass and tilting it. A measure of amber liquid rolled to the edge of the glass.

"What the hell, Sam?" he asked. "You're drinking already? It's not even eight yet."

"Still night for me," Sam said carelessly.

"You haven't slept at all!"

Sam finally turned his gaze on Dean. It was a thing empty of all life. A dead thing. It scared Dean. "No."

He'd thought when Sam started talking again, the day after Lucifer was taken, that it portended an improvement. He'd been wrong. Sam had spoken enough to tell them he was going back to the motel and left without another word. He'd come back the next morning with his laptop and set himself up at the table. There he had started to build the sheaf of notes on angel lore and heaven. Dean knew it was a wasted endeavor. Sam had spent over two centuries being schooled on angels by Lucifer in the Cage, and anything he didn't already know wasn't going to be on websites written by humans.

He dumped Sam's glass in the sink and poured him a coffee. He put it on the table beside Sam's hand, and smiled, satisfied, when Sam picked it up and took a sip without looking what it was. Sam grimaced as he swallowed and then drank some more. Dean figured that was as good as it was going to get.

His eyes found the blank TV screen and he said, "Nothing new?"

Bobby shrugged. "No idea. I wanted to get least a couple coffees in me before I started my day with another massacre.

Dean nodded and picked up his coffee from the counter. "I'm with you on that," he said and then took a sip of the bitter brew.

Massacres were pretty much their life now. These were particularly frustrating because there was nothing they could do about them. There was no forewarning. The news stations would just suddenly divert to a breaking story, and police and ambulances would fill the screen as the reporters tried to get a comment on the incident. Some stations were toying with the possibility of it being a terrorist group and others a particularly prolific serial killer.

Only they knew the truth. Bobby had hacked the police files and found the common theme in the victims. They were all missing persons or loners and they had been killed violently. It couldn't be angels dying, as they were all trapped, which left only one option. Demons. And there was the method of some of the deaths that was obvious to Castiel in the crime scene pictures—grace. Metatron was apparently systematically taking out the demons. While they felt bad for the meat suits, they all admitted he was doing them a favor as far as destroying demon-kind went. Hell, if they had the resources, they'd do the same.

"Cas still sleeping?" he asked.

Bobby nodded.

"Good." Dean was glad. Castiel was struggling with his newfound humanity, and sleep had been a problem. His body didn't have a proper sleep cycle yet, so he tended to drop when exhausted and struggle awake after only a few hours. It was yet another thing they were working on getting him accustomed to as part of his sudden plunge into human life.

"I'll give him another hour and then get him down for some breakfast."

"You're going to make breakfast?" Bobby asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No. I am going to give him milk and cereal and let him experiment. I'm not his mom."

Bobby huffed a laugh. "You're all compassion."

Dean wasn't heartless, but he already had so much heaped on his plate with Castiel needing help and instruction on every part of humanity and Sam cutting himself off from them all. In fact, Sam needed watching to make sure he wasn't slipping completely, to ensure he didn't do anything stupid. Dean was run ragged even with Bobby's support.

"Hello boys." The voice came from the door where Crowley had just appeared.

"Great," Dean said bitterly. "Exactly what we need. A snark refresher course from the King of Hell. What do you want Crowley?"

Crowley ignored him and looked around the room. "Moose," he said cheerfully. "How's things?"

Sam didn't even blink. He hadn't seemed to have noticed Crowley's arrival even. His fingers moved rapidly over the keys of the laptop and he frowned at the screen.

"Oh, I see," Crowley said. "Moose ain't home right now. Where's the newest human then?"

"Sleeping," Bobby said.

Crowley laughed. "That must be a helluva head trip for him. Well, maybe one of you can go wake him up. We've got things to discuss." When they merely glared at him distrustfully, he said, "Fine. I'll do it myself."

He disappeared and then Dean heard muffled voices from up the stairs. A moment later, Crowley appeared with a sleep-tousled and bleary-eyed Castiel beside him. "Now the team's together, we can talk," he said.

"We ain't your team," Bobby growled.

"We'll see about that," Crowley said.

He waved a hand at the TV and a news station filled the screen. Yet again, ambulances and police cars could be seen and a reporter was saying, _"People were slain in the church itself and on the grounds as they apparently attempted to flee. There has been no official number of casualties reported, but the church is known to have in excess of seventy members. They were gathered for a midnight service when the attack came. This is the breaking story of the massacre at the Westboro Baptist Church."_

Dean snorted a laugh. "About time someone did it."

"Were the Westboro Baptists demons?" Bobby asked.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "You know about that then?"

"Metatron taking out the demons? Yeah, we know," Dean said with satisfaction. "Don't suppose you've got an address for him, have you? We want to send a fruit basket."

"You didn't think about mentioning it to me?" Crowley asked.

Bobby laughed and Dean grinned. "Short answer? No. We were busy celebrating. Besides, why would we tell you? Shouldn't you have known yourself when your lackeys started getting wiped out?"

Crowley scowled. "I was busy."

"You didn't even notice?" Dean said incredulously. "What kind of king are you?"

"A powerful one," Crowley growled. "Something you might want to remember while you're coming up with your smartass remarks. You don't have archangels at your beck and call anymore, remember?"

Dean glanced at Sam, wondering if there would be some reaction, but there was none. He seemed completely absorbed in his research.

Crowley's eyes moved to him too and he smiled slightly. "At least he's still here," he said to Dean. "Time was he'd have dived into hell when things got shaky."

"Screw you," Dean said angrily.

Castiel cleared his throat and said, "So _are_ they demons?"

"No," Crowley said with a smug smile. "Even demons aren't _that_ twisted. They were all human, or what passes as human when you have their views."

"So why were they killed?" Castiel asked.

"Because they were 'impure' I'm guessing. They spouted that bile in the name of God, and I think that might have pissed off the little toad." He looked expectantly at Dean and said. "You're not getting it, are you?"

"Getting what?" Dean asked.

"He killed seventy humans today."

"Seventy of the evilest humans in the country," Dean said. "I'll be sure to make time to give a shit about that later."

"You might want to start caring now," Crowley said. "Since he's moved onto _humans_! He's done with the demons. Now he's going to start killing the humans that don't fit into his world view."

"How do you know this?" Bobby asked.

"I had a meeting with him yesterday. I was a touch curious about why he was taking out my demons, and he was happy to share. He's taking a leaf out of Lucifer's book and creating a paradise for him alone to enjoy. Well, not quite alone. He's planning on keeping around the 'good' humans, and maybe a couple of the smart funny ones I reckon. He got rid of the angels and demons now he's paved the way for him to rule over all."

"Are there really no demons left?" Castiel asked.

"There's some…" Crowley said carefully. "He's only been eliminating the ones topside. I have a whole pit full of them but they're in _Hell_."

"So you're essentially powerless on earth now," Castiel said.

Crowley sneered. "Yeah, because someone plucked my wings and turned me out on the street as a human. Oh, wait. No. That wasn't me; that was you."

Castiel's cheeks colored.

"I am not powerless," Crowley said. "I am still King. I just don't have so many lackeys topside right now."

"Sucks to be you," Dean said carelessly.

"No," Crowley corrected. "It sucks to be _you._ " He laughed at Dean's blank look. "I guess it depends on how highly you value your brother. Admittedly, he's a bit useless right now." He peered over at Sam. "What you doing, Moose? Surfing Facebook? I know you're not looking for way to get your boyfriend back, as that would be stupid to the point of insanity. You've already had the angelic information upload after all. If _you_ don't know a way to fix it, no one does."

Sam ignored him.

"What do you mean about Sam?" Bobby asked. "What's he got to do with anything?"

Crowley looked amused. "If Metatron is taking out 'impure' humans, what do you think he'll do with Lucifer's sweetie? I think he'll be lucky to be killed. I bet Metadouche has all kinds of nastiness planned for him."

Dean moved instinctively closer to Sam, as if that could help. Sam didn't even look up, apparently numb to the news that he was the target of an angel's wrath.

Crowley laughed. "You think you can protect him? Afraid not, Squirrel. You've only got one chance at saving him, and that's me."

"You're going to protect him?" Bobby asked suspiciously.

"Bite your tongue!" Crowley said, disgusted. "I am going to arm you prats. Way I figure it, we've got one chance at stopping all this. Take out Metatron. I'm guessing Castiel's blade was nicked before he was turfed out onto the mean streets of New Mexico, so you have no weapon to use against the little dick."

"We've got the colt," Dean said.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because that'll be real helpful. The colt kills monsters and demons. Angels aren't either of those things. They're God's own creation, as natural as they come. They aren't creatures born of the supernatural. They're God's very own tin soldiers. They can't be killed by a gun, and that's all the colt is against them—a gun."

Dean grimaced. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

"Did you miss the whole 'arming you' part? I'm going to get you something better than an angel blade or antique gun. It will take out the little squit, no problem. And here's the best part—drum roll please—we can crack Heaven open again at the same time."

There was a clatter as Sam lurched to his feet and stalked toward Crowley, his eyes blazing and his face more animated than it had been for weeks.

"Look who woke up!" Crowley said with a smirk.

Sam grabbed his lapels and leaned intimidatingly close to his face. "Say that again!" he growled.

Crowley stepped back, breaking Sam's grip on him easily. "Hands off the suit, please," he said. "This cost more that you could scam off a credit card company in a year."

"Say it again!" Sam demanded.

"We. Can. Crack. Heaven Open," Crowley said sarcastically slowly. "Metatron locked the angels up. I'll bet my bottom dollar that he can pop them out again. He just needs the right motivation, which this weapon will help provide." He glanced at Dean. "You understand, don't you, Squirrel?"

He did. He was going to need to tap into the lessons he had learned from Alastair again. "Where is this weapon?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"That's where it's a little complicated," Crowley said. "I'm not entirely sure yet."

"Find it," Sam said menacingly. "Now."

"Yes, sir, Winchester, sir!" Crowley snapped him a salute. "You act like you're the only one with a stake in this. I will find it for you, but you'll have to be ready when I do. I don't want sloppy partners."

Dean nodded soberly. He knew what the demon meant. He would have to be ready to torture. He looked at Sam; his brother's eyes were bright and engaged again. If it would protect him, Dean would do anything.

He would be ready.

* * *

 **So… Who knows what's better than an angel blade? *evil laugh* Yep, I'm going there... Poor Sammy.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	6. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for fixing this up for me. I appreciate you giving you time to me and the story. Thank you also Gredelina1 for helping and supporting. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Five**_

Lucifer was listening hard for Sam, and when his voice returned, Lucifer quickly stepped away from the wall where he was painting in another sigil and threw his mind open to Sam.

At first just hearing his voice was enough. It was almost like being able to touch him again. Lucifer let it wash over him, smiling blissfully, but then he grew concerned. Sam sounded different.

" _I am getting you back. I swear. To hell with everything else, this is all that matters. I know I'll find a way. We're not supposed to be apart. Purgatory couldn't do it, keep us from each other. You leaving for the Cage again couldn't. I'm going to bring you home."_

Though the words were comforting, reassuring, the tone wasn't. Sam didn't sound like himself. He sounded _wrong_. His words were quick and clipped, almost manic, and darker in a way. It was like he was angry.

Could he be angry at Lucifer?

Lucifer would understand it if he was, but it seemed unlike Sam to lay blame at his feet for something he hadn't chosen. Sam had forgiven him for every single crime in his long life, every cruelty he had committed. It didn't seem right he would punish Lucifer for this.

It wasn't his fault that he had been taken, he didn't know whose fault that was, but it was his that he had not freed himself yet. He was doing everything he could, but it still wasn't enough. That Sam could blame him for and be right.

He needed to do more.

Keeping his mind open to Sam, taking in each word and analyzing it, Lucifer turned back to the wall and cut across his palm for fresh blood. He painted on the complex sigil, keeping each line and curve perfect, before stepping back to examine his work. It was as perfect as he could make it.

He took a breath and closed his eyes before laying his bloodied palm at the center of the sigil and making the command in Enochian.

At first, he thought it was another failure. He had grown to expect them now, but this time something changed. He felt heat against his palm and his eyes fixed on the sigil, waiting expectantly for change. It came slowly, a glow around the edge of the bloody lines, and then it spread and filled them. The whole sigil blazed and burned. Lucifer kept his hand firmly in place and repeated the commands, his voice gradually gaining volume and the echo of power. It seared on, scorching across his eyes, and then the light flickered and died.

Hopefully, Lucifer tried to stretch his wings at his back, but they were as frozen as ever. He pushed himself away from the wall and cried out in fury. It had been so close, he knew it. Something had gone wrong. There was one line imperfect or he hadn't used the exact right words in his command. He had failed again.

His hands fisted and he bellowed a roar of angry Enochian. The floor beneath him shook and a lightning bolt slammed into the floor beside him. He knew this reaction was probably transferring itself throughout Heaven and possibly onto earth, too, upsetting people and angels, but he didn't care.

Perhaps Sam would see a storm and think of him.

* * *

A clap of thunder sounded overhead and lightning flashed across the sky as Sam stared out of the window at the rain pelting the parking lot.

He was frustrated. Crowley had come to Bobby's days ago to tell them about the 'weapon' he knew of that would help them with Metatron, but they'd not seen or heard from him since.

His visit had set a fire inside Sam, and it was starting to wane with the lack of news. It had brought him out of himself enough to pay more attention to what was happening around him though. He continued his research into angel lore and Heaven—even though he was aware it was pointless—as it gave him something to do to fill the days. It also kept Dean and the others off his back. Without it, he would sit for hours, trying desperately to reach Lucifer with his prayers.

Now, though, he noticed some of the action around him as he searched. Dean seemed to have undergone some kind of shift since Crowley's visit. He spent hours pummeling the punch bag he'd set up in the basement. He spoke in curt sentences, even to Castiel, leaving Bobby to take over the task of schooling Castiel in humanity.

Sam knew he should probably play his part, too, try to help his friend, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Castiel's problems seemed petty compared to Lucifer's. The archangel was trapped in heaven, and he was relying on Sam to get him out. And he would. They would find Metatron and Sam would get the secret of saving Lucifer and the others out of him before he killed him. It was only in the times when he thought of that moment that Lucifer didn't seem completely lost.

Thunder rumbled close by and Sam blinked as lightning seemed to touch down right in front of him. The weather was crazy. It felt almost as if Sam's despair was being shared by the storm.

"Nice place you've got here, Moose," Crowley said behind him. "Hope you don't mind me coming right it in. Didn't want to ruin the suit.

Sam turned to the demon. "Where the hell have you been?" he asked angrily.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Remember me telling you I didn't know where the weapon was? Well, to find something you have to look, so I have literally been in Hell shaking demons up for the information and rumors they had tucked away."

"Have you found it now?" Sam asked. "This _weapon?_ Did you bring it?"

Crowley patted his pockets. "Hang on. Let me just have a look. Oh. Wait. No, I don't have the bloody thing! This weapon is more powerful than the colt. Not the sort of thing I keep in my pockets."

"Then where is it?"

"Do I look like FedEx? We have to go get it. And I'm afraid it's going to be more complicated than going by the store to pick up a six-pack and bottle of rotgut for Singer. This is going to be dangerous. Might get us both killed in fact. You in?" He smiled wickedly.

"Yes," Sam said without hesitation.

Crowley nodded. "Thought you might say that. And, just out of curiosity, if you do bite it and I make it out by pure devilish prowess and charm, what do I say to big bro?"

Sam shrugged. "Tell him I said thank you."

"Thank you for what?"

"He'll know."

"That's suitably dramatic," Crowley said. "It'll keep him awake at night trying to work out exactly what you mean by it, but, hey, at least you'll not be forgotten in a hurry."

Sam grabbed his jacket from where he'd tossed it on the end of the bed and pulled it on. "I'm ready," he said.

Crowley frowned. "You not going in armed?"

"If this is as dangerous as you think, no weapon we have is going to help me."

"You're probably right. Let's go then." He snapped his fingers and they arrived an instant later outside a white farmhouse with a wooden windmill spinning in the strong gusts.

"Nice place," Crowley said conversationally. "Secluded. Bet it's peaceful." He walked a little along the path to the door and said, "Look at that, he keeps bees. I like a man with a hobby. I have eviscerations, he has insects. It's nice."

"Shut up, Crowley," Sam said, irritated by his babble.

"I could leave you here, you know."

Sam nodded. "I don't think I need you now anyway." The front door to the house had just swung open. Sam walked along the path toward the door, Crowley following him. "Thought you were leaving."

"Figured I'd stick around," he said. "I want to be there in person to hear you trying to express your undying gratitude to me."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to get right on that."

As Sam walked up the steps and approached the door, he felt a flutter of nerves. There was a shade of menace over the whole place. He refused to show it to Crowley though. He would go into this as a Winchester, as someone worthy of Lucifer's love. He would not go in scared.

There was no one in sight as he stepped onto the porch, but he could hear classical music playing quietly. He wasn't sure what to do. If the person that lived here was as dangerous as Crowley made out, then just walking into his house probably wasn't a good idea, but he hadn't come here to loiter on the doorstep like a Jehovah's Witness either. He raised his hand to knock on the doorframe, but before he could, a mild voice spoke inside.

"Come in."

"You heard the man," Crowley said, appearing at his side.

Sam walked inside and followed the music into a room across from the door. It was a small living room. There was an armchair by the fireplace and a small couch opposite. In the chair was a man with graying hair that grazed his shoulders and keen blue eyes that he fixed on Sam where he stood in the doorway.

"I said come in," he said pointedly, steepling his fingers under his chin. "Take a seat."

Feeling wrong-footed, Sam obeyed, sitting on the edge of the couch. He wasn't sure what he'd expected from his visit with the man, but it wasn't this. It was almost as though it was a prearranged visit from an unwanted and inferior relative.

Crowley followed and sat down beside Sam.

"Did I ask _you_ to sit?" the man asked.

"Beg your pardon. Would you rather I stood?" Crowley asked. His tone was so servile that Sam expected him to make a bow. Seeing Crowley, the King of Hell, playing toady to this man was more than a little disconcerting. The only other time Sam had seen the demon like this was when Lucifer was at his most menacing. Sam wondered where this man ranked in power in comparison.

"No. I would rather you waited to be invited though," he said.

"Absolutely," Crowley said. "Next time I will."

He narrowed his eyes at Crowley. "Now, you have taken the time to find me so, before I kill you, I'd like to know why you are here."

Sam glanced and Crowley and then said, "He said you have a weapon we can use."

He raised an eyebrow and fixed a menacing gaze on Crowley. "He did, did he?"

Crowley raised his hands in front of him. "I just shared rumors I'd heard."

"We're desperate," Sam said boldly.

"You must be if you're here willingly. Who are you?"

"This is Sam Winchester," Crowley said. "Lucifer's more photogenic other half."

The man frowned. "His what?"

"Lucifer's lover," Crowley said.

He looked stunned. "This bag of meat and bones is Satan's lover?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He hated that name. It was wrong now. Lucifer was no longer like that.

"You object to the description of yourself, or is it the name Satan you don't like?"

"He's not Satan," Sam said.

"No? Would you prefer Beelzebub? The Devil? Perhaps the Serpent seems more appropriate to you."

"He's none of those things to me," Sam said. "He's just Lucifer."

"Is that so? However, I know the truth of him, so I will continue to use the name I see fit. Satan is your lover, that's correct?"

"Yes," Sam said. "Who are you?"

The man laughed shortly. "You mean to tell me he didn't explain? Did he warn you even?"

"He told me coming here might kill me," Sam said.

"And yet you came anyway." He looked thoughtful. "Perhaps there is something to interest me in you after all. Well, Sam Winchester, my name is Cain and I am the first child born to the world."

Sam's eyes widened. He was _that_ old. He was the man that committed the first murder. How could he possibly be alive? Unless he was… "Demon," he said quietly.

"I see you understand," Cain said. "That will simplify things somewhat. Though incidentally, I am no mere demon. I am a Knight of Hell."

Sam grappled with the information. It was true that Lucifer had schooled him in angel lore more than demonic, but he had never mentioned a Knight of Hell before. Why would he leave something so important out of his teachings?

Cain leaned back in his chair and fixed his disconcerting eyes on Sam. "You know, with little to do but tend to my bees, I find myself bored sometimes. I like to keep up to date on current events as a result. I remember a time not too long ago when the world was on a path to destruction. The pieces seemed to be falling into place for the apocalypse. And then it stopped. Suddenly, there was no more. The world returned to normal."

Sam nodded. "That was Lucifer."

"I think the more correct explanation is that it was you," Cain said.

"That's right," Crowley said, nodding quickly. "Sam tamed Lucifer."

"He gave up the apocalypse for me and the world," Sam said.

Cain looked amused. "For the world? That doesn't sound like him."

"But he did it," Sam said.

"And you have come to me for a weapon, why?" he asked.

"There is an angel called Metatron. He did something that trapped all the angels in Heaven. Lucifer included. Now he's killing people. He started with the demons. He has–"

"I know about the demons," Cain said, making a rolling gesture with his hand, urging him one. "Continue with the human part of it. I believe that is why _you_ are here at least. _"_

"He's killing humans now," Sam said. "He wants to create a paradise of just the great and good."

"And maybe a few funny ones," Crowley added.

Cain held up a hand to him. "When I wish to hear your voice, I will ask for it. Continue, Sam."

"He's creating a paradise with the world in his image, which means he's going to annihilate probably millions of humans."

"Much as your lover once planned to do, I believe," Cain said.

"Yes," Sam said. "There is no stopping Metatron though. Nothing but killing him."

"And you want a weapon that will do the job?"

Sam nodded. "The colt won't work."

"You have it?" Cain asked, and Sam nodded again. "You're right. It wouldn't work."

He sat still for a moment, seeming to be mulling things over in his mind. Sam sat waiting nervously for him to speak.

"Yes," he said eventually. "I do have a weapon that will kill this angel. Or at least I had it. I can lead you to it, but you need something more first."

"You'll lead us to it?" Sam asked hopefully.

"I will, but first you will need to take something else. He stood from his chair and rolled up his right sleeve. A burn-like mark was on his forearm. It looked like a rune, but none that Sam recognized. It wasn't angelic.

Sam stood and moved closer. "What is it?"

"This is what gives the weapon its power. It is called The Mark of Cain, appropriately enough." He stared into Sam's eyes. "You will need to take the Mark too if you're going to wield the Blade. Otherwise it's just an old bone."

"How do I take it?" Sam asked.

"No other questions?" Cain asked. "You don't want to know the price you will have to pay? The burden you will carry?"

"Will it allow me to kill Metatron?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

"That's all I need to know."

Cain smiled slightly. It didn't make him look any less intimidating. "Then it's yours." He grabbed Sam's hand and dragged back the sleeve of his shirt. He gripped Sam's forearm hard and closed his eyes. Sam waited for something to happen and then he felt a burn moving along his arm from wrist to just below his elbow. It concentrated in one point and Sam watched as the brand that had been on Cain's arm appeared on his own. The pain lessened and Cain released him.

"Where's the Blade?" Sam asked at once.

Cain smiled and glanced past him to Crowley. "You're going to need _his_ help to retrieve it. I have hidden it."

"Where?" Crowley asked suspiciously.

Cain frowned at him. "In the bottom of the deepest ocean."

Crowley looked annoyed but he nodded. "Okay."

"I wish you luck, Sam Winchester. I will see you again." With that he waved a hand and Sam felt a swoop in his stomach. He looked around and found himself outside the farmhouse again with Crowley at his side.

"Not much for goodbyes, is he?" Crowley said. "Not that it matters. We got what we came for."

Sam looked down at the brand on his arm. "Yeah. We did."

"Right," Crowley said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's get you home."

Sam glanced back at the house for a moment before he felt Crowley moving him. He thought he saw movement behind the windows, and he wondered what Cain had meant when he would see him again. Not that it mattered. He had part of what he needed. He just needed Crowley to find the blade and he could get to work.

He could get Lucifer back.

* * *

 **So… Yep. Sammy has the Mark. This was basically the meat of the story for me. I always wanted to see how he could handle it compared to Dean. Now I will be able to explore it.**

 **The heaven scene in this chapter was influenced by a scene Snarkymuch2 wrote, so credit to her.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	7. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and Gredelina1 for all your help and support. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. You're support means a lot to me.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Five**_

Lucifer was with Gabriel when the prayer came again. "I tried the oldest Enochian I know," he was saying. "The first words we ever heard from Father, and—" He cut off abruptly.

" _Lucifer! Can you hear me? I need you to hear me now. It's happening!"_

Lucifer froze. "What, Sam? What is happening?"

"Lucifer?" Gabriel said, and Lucifer held up a hand to silence him.

" _I have it now."_

"What do you have, Sam?" Lucifer said. "You need to tell me!"

He almost expected the walls to shake and freedom to come now. He found his eyes searching up and down the halls for a sign of what had Sam so excited. There was no movement aside from Gabriel shifting anxiously beside him.

" _I couldn't tell you before, because he's so unreliable, but it's mine now. It's happening."_

Lucifer wondered who 'he' was and what he was doing for Sam. It could be no angel, as they were already lost, and no human could help. That left demons… Crowley. "Oh, Sam, what have you done?" he groaned.

"What has _who_ done?" Gabriel asked, sounding impatient.

Lucifer shook his head irritably and listened hard for more.

" _It's not quite ready yet, there's something else we have to get, and then I'll be ready. You just have to hold on a little longer. I will get you back. It's really happening, Lucifer. I'm going to save you. And when I do, you will never leave me again."_

"I won't," Lucifer promised. "I swear I will never leave you again."

Sam's voice trailed away, and Lucifer sighed sadly.

"What's happening, Lucifer?" he asked.

"You were right," Lucifer said. "Sam is finding a way to get us back."

Gabriel clapped his hands. "I _told_ you! I knew he'd do it. How's it going? Is he close?"

"I think he might be. He said there is something else they need but that they're getting it. He sounded so sure, Gabriel, but I'm worried."

"Worried about what? You've been bleeding yourself dry trying to find the right spell to get us out of here. Seems like Sam's going to beat you to it."

"He is working with someone. I don't know for sure, but I suspect it's Crowley. That can mean nothing good."

"You think Crowley would betray you?" Gabriel asked. "I thought you'd scared the piss out of him and he was your bitch."

"He was when I was there. I don't know what he will do now that I am away. He's cruel and not overly intelligent but cunning nonetheless."

"Don't worry, Lucifer. Sam isn't stupid, and he sure as hell wouldn't trust Crowley. Besides, he's got Dean taking care of him. He's going to be fine."

Lucifer nodded. Sam was the furthest thing from stupid, and he did have Dean protecting him. For all of Dean's other faults, he was dedicated to taking care of Sam, even more than before since his previous failings.

"You're right," he said, drawing his blade again and cutting across his palm to start a new sigil.

"You're having another go at it?" Gabriel asked. "I thought we just agreed Sam was doing it."

"I cannot rest and leave it to him. Between the two of us, we will find a way to be reunited, but I must do what I can, too."

"Fine, but I was hoping we'd have time for a little brotherly bonding since we're here anyway. Guess I'll leave you to it," Gabriel said.

Lucifer watched him walk away and then returned his attention to the wall. He was going to be free one way or another.

* * *

Sam was late arriving the next day. Dean didn't notice at first because he was deep into his workout in the basement. He had been working out a lot lately. He thought it would help him get into the proper headspace to deal with Metatron when it was time. A better method of working out would be to find a demon and get to work on it, but there was a lack of available victims lately, so he exercised, trained, tried hard to make himself ready do what was needed.

Castiel tried to join him at first, saying that he needed to be ready to fight when it was necessary, too, but Dean quickly nixed that idea. Jimmy had led a sedentary life and Castiel needed to start smaller. He was also a distraction for Dean which he didn't need, so he advised him to start out jogging to build stamina and left Bobby to take care of the rest most of the time.

He was usually alerted when Sam arrived, though. Bobby or Castiel would come tell him so he could go up and check on him, try to engage him in conversation, check the darkness of the bags under his eyes and gauge how much sleep he was getting. Despite his preoccupation, he knew he still needed to take care of Sam, because his brother sure as hell wasn't doing it for himself.

He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that it was past noon. Sam was usually there long before that. He ran a bandana over his sweaty face and walked up the stairs and into the library. Bobby and Castiel looked up from their activities—stirring something on the stove and reading what looked like a cookbook. What Bobby was even doing with a cookbook when he subsisted on chili and tuna casserole Dean didn't know.

"How's it going down there?" Bobby asked.

Dean shrugged. "It's going. You seen Sam?"

"No. Haven't heard from him either."

"Have you called?"

Bobby shook his head. "I thought it was better to leave him to rest if that's what he's doing. God knows he needs it."

Dean agreed, but he still felt a flicker of worry. What if something else had happened to him? Sam wasn't the most stable person right now. He could have gone off the deep-end again and done something epically stupid. He didn't think Sam would hurt himself while there was the option of a weapon that could help them free Lucifer, but that probably wouldn't stop him going after Metatron early. He might have some dumb idea that he could trap him.

"I'm going to go check on him," Dean said.

Bobby peered out of the window. "You could. Or you could just open the door."

Dean walked to the door and opened it in time to see Sam pull up beside the Impala. Sam climbed out walked up the steps to the porch. He brushed past Dean without looking at him, as if he was fourteen and mad at him for existing again.

Dean closed the door, pushing down his annoyance, and turned to Sam who was over at the counter pouring himself a mug of coffee.

"You're late today," he said. "You okay?"

Sam nodded. "Fine."

"You been sleeping?"

Sam shrugged. "Something like that."

Dean scrutinized him. The shadows under his eyes seemed lighter today and his skin had a bit of color that had been lacking before.

"Whatever you did, looks like you needed it. It's done you good," Bobby said

Sam rubbed absently at his right forearm. "I think so too."

He took a sip of the coffee he'd poured and glanced at the laptop. Dean expected him to go straight to it and get to work on his pointless endeavor. He didn't though. He stood against the counter and stared vaguely out of the window.

Bobby's eyes found Dean's and he seemed to be trying to communicate something with him. Dean didn't know what though. He and Bobby hadn't perfected nonverbal communication the way he and Sam had—the same way Lucifer and Sam had since they'd returned from the Cage. Though, while Sam and Lucifer used the ability to reassure, communicate their love, and share lighter moments, Dean and Sam used it more often to fight. Dean could look into Sam's face and know whether he was going to feint right but go left or attack straight on. He could read Sam's mood or could gauge his pain. He could know what Sam was thinking. Or at least he'd been able to. Sam didn't use that connection anymore. Dean could still gauge pain, but he couldn't read his thoughts. He didn't need to truly. Sam's only thought—Lucifer—and his mood—despair—were obvious.

"We've not heard from Crowley yet," Bobby said, as if Sam didn't already know that from the fact they'd not mentioned it before.

"I know," Sam said. "I saw him last night."

"You kept that quiet," Bobby said.

Sam rubbed that point on his forearm again.

"So, does he have the weapon?" Dean asked eagerly.

"Not yet."

"Then what did he want?" Bobby asked.

Sam sighed, as if their questions were boring him. "We went to see someone that can help us _find_ the weapon."

"And you went alone because…?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Crowley arrived in my room, said he had a lead, and took me with him."

"Took you where?" Bobby asked shrewdly.

Castiel set aside the book he'd been holding open on his lap. "What aren't you telling us, Sam? Who did he take you to?"

Sam glanced at him and his eyes narrowed. "A demon."

"Thought they were all in hiding and trapped," Dean said.

"This one wasn't," Sam said slowly. "I think he's pretty much safe from Metatron."

Castiel's forehead scrunched into a frown. "Who was it?" he asked suspiciously.

Sam looked fixedly at Castiel as he answered. "His name was Cain."

Castiel's eyes widened and he lurched to his feet. "No, Sam! Tell me you didn't, please." His voice was pleading.

Sam didn't speak which was answer enough for Castiel. His hands flew to his hair and he looked horrified. His reaction scared Dean, and judging by Bobby's pallor, him too.

Sam on the other hand looked completely unruffled. "I did what I had to do."

"What did you have to do?" Dean asked in a strained voice. He hadn't been so scared since the moment Sam disappeared after killing Dick Roman. Possibly not even then. Sam's complete lack of care and Castiel's panic was chilling.

Castiel walked to Sam and made a grab for his wrist and tried to pull up Sam's sleeve. Sam pulled back with an annoyed expression.

"Show me!" Castiel demanded. Dean didn't think he had seen him like this since the days before the apocalypse, when he had been a true soldier of God, when he had ordered instead of requested.

"You already know it's there," Sam said. "Why do you need to see it?"

"What is there?" Bobby asked the question Dean couldn't bring himself to. He was afraid of what Sam's answer would be.

With an eye roll, as if he couldn't understand why they were making so much fuss, Sam slowly unbuttoned his right cuff and rolled up the sleeve to the elbow.

Dean saw something on his arm, and he moved closer to get a better look. It was red and raised like a burn, but no simple burn would be so perfectly shaped. It was more like a brand.

Bobby appeared at his side and peered down at the mark as Castiel stepped back as if distancing himself from it.

"What the hell is it?" Bobby asked.

Sam shrugged. "It's what will make it possible to kill Metatron."

"Is that truly all you know?" Castiel asked. "He didn't explain?"

"He told me it's called The Mark of Cain," Sam said.

Castiel's eyes bugged. "And that's it?"

"Pretty much."

"Sam, you have no idea what you have done!" Castiel's voice was taut with fear.

Sam looked at him. "It means I can kill Metatron, right? With the blade?"

"Yes, but…"

"That's all that matters." He turned to Bobby. "Your chili is burning."

Only then did Dean notice the acrid smell of burning. He turned and saw the smoke rising from the pan. Bobby crossed into the kitchen, grabbed a potholder and lifted the pan off the stove and dumped it in the sink. He flipped off the burner and stopped a moment, his hands braced on the counter and his head down, then he took a breath and turned with a neutral expression. "Okay, Cas," he said. "Since Sam apparently didn't get the inside scoop on his new body art, how about you fill us in."

Sam rolled his sleeve down again and went to the couch. He picked up Castiel's book and tossed it onto the desk before flopping down and crossing his arms over his chest. He looked like an overgrown teenager having a tantrum.

Castiel turned to him with that same tensed expression and said, "Cain is the first child born of Adam and Eve."

"Whoa! Serious player then." Dean said.

Castiel nodded. "He is also known as the Father of Murder."

"Because he killed his brother," Dean said, nodding.

"Yes. Cain murdered Abel; that humans know."

"Because he was jealous that God favored Abel," Bobby said.

"No," Castiel said, fixing his eyes on Sam who seemed bored by the conversation. "Abel was talking to Lucifer, not God. Lucifer was grooming Abel to be his pet, corrupting him."

"Okay, didn't hear that version in Sunday school," Bobby said.

"Your Bible gets more wrong than it does right," Castiel said. "Lucifer was corrupting Abel, and Cain discovered it. Scared for his brother, loving him, Cain made a deal with Lucifer. Abel would receive admittance to Heaven and Cain to Hell. There was another cost though. Cain must kill Abel himself. Cain did it, this we know, but what came after was the second price for Cain coming to fruition. He couldn't live with what he'd done, so he killed himself, even knowing where he would go. I believe he thought it was a lesser Hell than the one he was already living."

"He became a demon," Sam said, sounding only mildly interested.

Castiel nodded. "A Knight of Hell. He created others like him and became their leader."

"What's this Mark thing though?" Dean asked.

"It is the mark that Lucifer gave to him when they made their deal. It holds the power of the murder and it gives the Blade its power."

Sam looked up now, seeming interested. "The Blade?"

"It is fashioned from the jawbone Cain used to kill Abel. It is quite aptly called The First Blade."

"And that's what will kill Metatron?" Sam asked eagerly.

Castiel nodded somberly. "It holds the power to, yes."

Sam got to his feet and made for the hall. The sight of him, just walking away from them after what he had done, made Dean's anger soar. Everything he had pushed down when Castiel had been explaining the mark suddenly surged through his mind and he rushed after him, grabbing his arm. Sam ripped his arm out of Dean's grasp and rounded on him, his eyes burning. "Don't touch me!"

Unquailed by Sam's anger, Dean shouted, "What the hell, Sam? What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that we needed to kill an asshole angel. I was thinking that this is the only weapon capable of it now. He told me I needed the mark to use the Blade, so I took it. What I was thinking," he said through his teeth, "was that Lucifer has been torn away from me and trapped, and this is the only way I can get him back."

"You know better than this, Sam. It's a deal! You made a deal!"

"So did you," Sam said. "You dealt to bring me back. I dealt to bring Lucifer back. How is it different?"

"I dealt because I had no choice?"

"You think I do?" Sam asked angrily. "I have _no_ choice. It's Lucifer."

"You should have waited for me. You ran off on your own and left me. We're a team, Sam!"

Sam shook his head slowly, as if tired of the argument already. "What difference would it have made?" Sam asked. "We'd still be in the same position. I'd still have taken the Mark."

"No," Dean said. " _I_ would have. This was supposed to be on me. It's my job!"

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Because you're my brother. I am supposed to protect you."

Sam sighed, irritated, "We're not a team, Dean. It's not about you and me. It's about me and Lucifer."

With that said, he turned away and walked through the hall and down the stairs to the basement.

Dean reeled back, stunned. Someone steadied him with a hand on his shoulder and Bobby spoke close to him. "He don't mean it, Dean. He's just hurting is all."

Dean shook his head. "I think he means every word. I'm losing him again. He left me for Lucifer once before; he was gone two damn years. I'm losing him again, and this time he's not coming back."

"He's not gone," Bobby argued.

"No," Dean said. "He is. I lost him the day he went to Lucifer to save me. I just didn't realize that until now."

* * *

 **So… I had a little moment editing this last scene with what Dean says. It partly a sad 'Poor Dean' moment, and equally and a laughing-so-hard-I-choked-on-my-coffee moment, because** _ **I**_ **know what's coming. Mwahahaha.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	8. Chapter 7

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for all your work on this chapter for me. Thank you Gredelina1 for all do for me and the story. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

 **I am heading to Sweden on Wednesday to see Gredelina1 and there's Xmas before, so I might not be able to reply to reviews individually as I usually do. I will do my best, but if I miss you, know I am so grateful to you all. Much love and Happy Holidays xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Seven**_

Sam shrugged off his shirt and tossed it onto the floor then rolled his shoulders. He could imagine the conversation happening upstairs. He tried and failed to find it in himself to care that they would be discussing him, probably talking about how dumb he'd been to take on the Mark.

They didn't understand though. Even Bobby, who had lost his wife, didn't understand because he'd had no chance of bringing her back the way Sam could Lucifer. Sam was sure if he'd had the option, he would have done the same thing for her. Castiel didn't understand because he didn't love the way they did. He'd never had anyone the way Sam had Lucifer. And Dean… Maybe he should understand. He had made the deal for Sam, after all. The fact he was on Sam's case about the Mark was hypocritical.

Sam shook his head irritably and stepped up to the punch bag. He raised his fists and swung the first punch, opening his mind and trying desperately to speak through a connection that might not even exist anymore.

"Lucifer. Are you there?"

He waited, as if there was going to be some answer from the dead space he was speaking into. He had always _felt_ Lucifer before when he prayed, as if he was there in his arms. And when Lucifer spoke back, he could both hear and feel him. He didn't feel that anymore. He felt as if there was a barrier between them. Which there was, of course. Gates in fact.

"We're getting somewhere now," he said.

He started to punch the bag again. His fists making contact to the rhythm of his word.

"We've got help."

He wondered if help was really the word for Crowley. He shrugged. Let Dean and the others worry about that. He was concerned with saving his heart.

"It will be soon, I am sure," he said bracingly.

No matter how soon, it would be not soon enough. He needed Lucifer with him now. Lucifer didn't need to hear that though. He was surely already despairing as much as Sam at their parting. More even, as Sam at least had a way to work toward saving him. He thought Lucifer was powerless up there since Metatron, the cause behind the crime, was on Earth.

"You just need to hang on a little longer for me," he said. "Please, hang on."

He fell silent as his fists sped up, pummeling as his annoyance rose again.

"Dean doesn't understand," he said. "He's pulling the 'Big Brother' card, as if that's even a thing anymore. We're so far beyond that now."

His knuckles started to burn and the muscles of his upper arms began to cramp as his fists flew at the bag.

"He doesn't think I'm strong enough. He thinks I need him to take up the slack like he always does." He growled out his frustration. "He doesn't think I can save you."

He slugged the bag one final time and it flew back in his face. He dodged out of the way and it hit his shoulder.

"I can save you!" There was pain in his voice now and his eyes were burning with tears that he didn't want to shed.

He couldn't control it though. They began to trickle down his cheeks, burning hot. He leaned his head against the punch bag and gripped his hair. "It hurts," he groaned, unsure of whether he was speaking about his physical aches or emotional agony. "Lucifer, it hurts."

His hands yanked at strands, adding a new pain.

"I miss you!" he said desperately. "Lucifer, I miss you! I need you, dammit!"

How could he have had over two centuries with the archangel that seemed now to have lasted only a moment in time when the weeks he had been gone felt like an eternity?

"It wasn't long enough," he choked out. "You need to come back. You told me you would only ever be a prayer away, but you're not. I am begging you, needing you, and you're not here." He began to sob brokenly. "How could you let this happen?"

He knew he wasn't being fair, but he had to share the blame before it broke him. He felt like it was suffocating him. He couldn't think of a thing he could have done to protect Lucifer, but the guilt drowned him regardless, cruel and misplaced, but a living thing.

"Why did you leave me?" he cried.

"He had no choice," a voice said behind him.

Sam froze. His hands coming to his face and wiping at the tears there.

"Leave, Castiel," he said angrily. He didn't want a witness to this, someone that would go back to Dean and tell him just how weak he was, how pathetic.

"No," Castiel said with his usual bluntness.

"Leave!" he growled, rounding on him with his aching hands clenched into fists.

Castiel seemed unruffled by his show of anger. He merely tilted his head and examined Sam. "You're crying."

"It's the dust," Sam said carelessly. "Bobby does a piss-poor job of housekeeping."

He knew it made no sense—who even kept their basement clean anyway? Though Castiel must know that, too, he didn't object. He merely looked around the room and said, "It is dusty."

"What do you want, Cas?" he asked.

Castiel smiled slightly. Perhaps he was deluded enough to believe the use of the nickname meant something. It didn't. It was just a word.

"Your _brother_ is very upset." He said the word with emphasis, as if that meant something, too.

Did it? It must, right? Of course, it did. Family mattered. He felt another heaping of guilt for upsetting Dean, a new pressure on his chest, as he knew he owed him better than this.

" _Very_ upset," Castiel said.

"Yeah, well he's not the only one."

"He's worried."

"Me too," Sam said. "I'm worried about my lover that's trapped in Heaven."

Castiel sighed and his eyes fixed on the Mark visible beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. "We need to talk about this, Sam."

"Let me guess, you played rock, paper, scissors, and Dean won. So now you got sent down here to talk to me."

"It is an unpredictable game," Castiel stated.

Sam huffed a laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation, that Castiel thought he would open up to him. That any of them did. Castiel had always been Dean's angel. Sam had his own.

"Dean always plays scissors," he said, turning back to the punchbag and ignoring his aches, starting to punch it lightly. "You want to win, you have to go rock."

"Thank you," Castiel said seriously.

"Sure," Sam said sarcastically. " _That_ you thank me for."

"What else am I supposed to thank you for?" Castiel asked.

Sam turned and slapped his hand down on the Mark. "How about this?

"I cannot thank you for making a mistake, Sam. Think!" he said, a tinge of desperation in his voice. "You _know_ it's not good. We _cannot_ trust Crowley."

Sam stayed silent. He knew Castiel was right, but he wasn't going to admit it to anyone, least of all the former angel with his infuriatingly superior knowledge. He had known about Cain and the Mark. Lucifer hadn't told Sam about it, and they were supposed to share everything.

"This is old magic!" Castiel went on, impassioned. "The very first curse. If you are going to get through this, we need to be a team!"

"Why?" Sam asked. "I'm the one with the Mark. I'm the one that can use the weapon. What else do I need?"

"You need our help. This Mark is going to change you, corrupt you."

"It's too late," Sam said, unsure even himself whether he meant it was too late to go back or that he was already corrupted.

"Didn't you think that the fact the Mark was on a demon was a cause for concern?" he asked.

"I thought about it," Sam said carelessly. "I just decided it was worth it."

"There will be a price, Sam; there always is."

"I know," Sam said. "But as long as Lucifer and I are together, we can deal with it."

"Are you really so shortsighted by your loss?" he asked angrily. "Can't you see what you have done? Did you consider for one minute that it was _Crowley_ leading you to this? Didn't you think that it was even a little suspicious that he was so eager to help?"

"Well, yeah. He's helpful because he wants Metatron dealt with, too."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Like Ruby wanted Lilith dealt with? Has it been so long that you have forgotten your own history, Sam?"

Sam ignored his question as he considered his words, feeling a little off-center. It was true that Ruby had played him. He had truly thought she wanted to help him. He had trusted her, even when she had offered him her blood. He'd believed she wanted to deal with Lilith as much as him. He'd believed that it was the only way. Just like then he was trusting a demon to lead him. Crowley had as much invested in Metatron as Sam had in breaking him.

Ultimately, it was too late. Sam had the Mark. Crowley was getting him the blade. He was too far down the path to turn back even if he wanted to.

"What's done is done," he said carelessly. "It's what it's going to take."

"To do what?" Castiel asked. "Save Lucifer? This is bigger than one angel, Sam. This is the world. Are you so consumed with your own loss that you can't see what else is at stake? Metatron will cleanse the earth of anyone that doesn't fit into his mold of what is right and desirable. Tell me honestly, do you care about those people, or do you just care about yourself?"

"This isn't about me," Sam said angrily. "This is about Lucifer."

"That is one and the same," Castiel said.

Sam turned that over in his mind for a moment. Castiel made it sound like saving Lucifer was selfish. How could saving the person he loved be selfish? He was going to save the world at the same time. The people would be protected by him killing Metatron, too.

Castiel sighed sadly. "You once went to Lucifer when he was the enemy to save your brother. Does he matter so little to you now?"

"So, me going to Lucifer to save Dean was okay but me doing this to save Lucifer is wrong?" Sam bit out.

"That's not what I am saying. I am trying to gauge just how far you have fallen already. Do you care about Dean at all anymore?"

"Dean is my brother," he said angrily.

"Does that mean the same thing to you that it did before Lucifer?"

"I would die for Dean," he said.

Dean was one of the only things keeping him here now. It was only that Dean needed him and there was a chance of getting Lucifer back that enabled him to make it through the days. If he didn't have Dean, he would join Lucifer just as he had last time they were torn apart, the hell with everything else.

"That's not what I asked," Castiel said.

"It's only because of Dean that I'm still here," he said, the words bitter on his tongue.

Castiel frowned. "I don't understand what you mean."

"It doesn't matter," Sam said, bending and picking up his shirt. He pulled it on and said, "It doesn't matter that you understand as long as I keep doing it."

He brushed past Castiel and walked up the stairs, hoping that Castiel remained as oblivious as ever, as he thought he had said too much.

* * *

When Lucifer heard Sam speak next, he was angry, it was obvious in his clipped off words and the undertone of tension, even though his words were clearly designed to reassure at first. Lucifer stopped what he was doing and just listened, wishing the channel was two-way so he could speak to Sam, too. He needed to calm and comfort, reassure, but Sam was the only one that could be heard.

" _Lucifer, are you there?"_ There was a pause before he spoke again. _"We're getting somewhere now. We've got help."_

Lucifer wondered if help was the right word for Crowley, if it was even him. Sam was resourceful. He could have found someone else to help him.

" _It will be soon, I am sure. You just need to hang on a little longer for me. Please, hang on."_

He fell silent a moment and when he spoke, his words had a rhythm.

" _Dean doesn't understand. He's pulling the 'Big Brother' card, as if that's even a thing anymore. We're so far beyond that now."_

That worried Lucifer. He had been relying on Dean to take care of the man he loved. He was obviously trying, but Sam wasn't being receptive. That would complicate things for them both.

" _He doesn't think I'm strong enough. He thinks I need him to take up the slack like he always does. He doesn't think I can save you."_

"I believe you can," Lucifer said into the silence. "I _know_ you can."

His voice became pained. _"I can save you!"_

"I know, Sam," Lucifer crooned.

Sam's words came as a groan. _"It hurts. Lucifer, it hurts. I miss you! Lucifer, I miss you! I need you, dammit!"_

Lucifer ached to be heard. "I miss you, too. I love you so much. I swear I will come back to you."

" _It wasn't long enough."_ There were obvious tears in his voice now. _"You need to come back. You told me you would only ever be a prayer away, but you're not. I am begging you, needing you, and you're not here. How could you let this happen?"_

"I am sorry. I never meant to leave you. Please don't cry, Sam. I can't bear it. Please don't. I will make it better, I promise you."

" _Why did you leave me?"_ he cried.

"I never meant to," Lucifer said desperately. "I swear. I would never choose to leave you. I love you so much."

He waited silently, both hoping to hear Sam's voice and fearing it at the same time. It didn't come though. Whether Sam was spent, broken down, or had been interrupted, he didn't know. He hoped that it had been Dean interrupting him, taking care of him now in Lucifer's place.

It was the first time Sam had openly broken down through his prayer, and it hurt Lucifer to hear. He needed to be there to help, though perhaps if he was, it would not be even needed anymore. He could maybe heal Sam just by being there.

* * *

 **So… That went well. I'm afraid the Castiel/Sam tension is going to be a theme for the rest of the story.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	9. Chapter 8

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the fab beta job and Gredelina1 for supporting.**

 **I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter out to you. Before I left I preloaded the site with chapters of The Space Between and intended to do the same with Search on and Knocking on Heaven's Door but I ran out of time. I'm home now so we can get back to our regular update routine.**

 **Thanks for reading. You guys make the hard work worth it xxx**

 _ **Chapter Eight**_

Crowley lolled in his throne, the picture of ease. Things were moving along nicely. Sam had the Mark. He was ready for the Blade now. More than ready, he was willing and able to wield it. He was going to be magnificent. Everything was falling into place. Soon Crowley would have a new playmate, a toy if you like, and as soon as Metatron was dead, Crowley would be the most powerful being in Hell and on Earth. It was going to be great.

"Service," he called, waiting for the pitter-patter of demonic feet. Usually, the summons was enough to bring them running. But no one appeared. "Service!" he called a little louder. When still no one came, he raised his voice to a bellow. "What's it take for a king to get a little service around here?"

There was movement at the door, and a demon in the meat suit of what looked like a college kid with gelled hair stumbled in, as if he had been pushed from behind.

"Sire."

"About time," he said irritably. "What took so long? I know I am a little low on numbers at the moment, but surely there's enough of you left to answer a summons, isn't there?"

"Forgive me, sire, but none of wanted to be stabbed."

"Understandable," Crowley said. "Now, it's those depleted numbers that I wanted to talk about. I _know_ I gave the order for my demons to get their asses topside, so why am I not seeing results?"

"Well, sire, the problem is that it's, well, Hell. I'm sure you remember from your own escape that the only way we can get ourselves out is to scratch and claw our way."

"Yes," Crowley said slowly. "So why aren't they doing it?"

"Because it's difficult, sire. They are doing their best, but it's going to take time. It's not like when the Devil's Gate opened in Wyoming."

Crowley remembered that moment well. It had been a day like any other: eviscerations, immolations, screaming and skin being peeled off. Crowley had been enjoying himself when the rumble had started. The gate had opened and the mosh had begun. It had been a race for the exit with practically every demon in existence participating. Hundreds had escaped into the world before the gate had closed. It had been a triumph of demon-kind. Azazel, for all his faults, had succeeded where many demons had failed. If the Winchesters and their friends hadn't been there, it would have been even better. Thousands could have been freed.

"You see, sire, it's complicated" The demon was babbling a nervous quaver to his voice. "We need time."

"Shut up," Crowley said quietly.

"Yes, sire."

Crowley held up a hand. "I said _shut up!_ I'm having a thought here." He allowed his mind to follow the path to completion and he smiled widely. "Yep. That was a thought, alright."

"What do you need, sire?"

"A plunger, two angel feathers and a bottle of Glencraig."

The demon ran for the door and then turned back, his brow furrowed. "A plunger sir?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "That was a joke, you twit. I need the colt." He smiled cruelly. "Lucky for me, I know just where to find it."

He rose and walked to the door, clapping the demon on the shoulder as he passed. "It's your lucky day," he said. "You don't get stabbed. In fact, you're going to be rewarded. What's your name by the way?"

"Seth," he said.

"Seth." Crowley turned the name over in his mind. "I don't like it. You're going to be called… Eric."

The demon bowed. "Yes, sire. Thank you."

"Now, Eric, you've been promoted. You're my new PA. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sire," he said, sounding less than grateful. Crowley assumed it was fear of displeasing him and being stabbed that made the demon nervous. Crowley knew, though, that he would have to make a concerted effort to keep this one alive. At least until he had swelled his ranks again. Then he'd find a new, smarter, funnier demon. Perhaps one with better hair.

xXx

It had taken Crowley a while to get to this point. He wanted to get to the colt already, but first he had to set the scene. He needed the Winchesters nice and distracted by the First Blade so he could slip in and out to get the colt.

He had been forced to _inspire_ a lot of people to talk during the process of tracking the Blade down. He had suffered in the process. He'd searched the bottom of the ocean, suffering the salt water and general annoyance of it only to come up empty. Some digging around in dull webpages and mission analyses reports had told him an unmanned submarine had retrieved it. A research assistant for the mission had informed him that it had been stolen. A little shaking up and outright cruelty had revealed the name of the thief. Crowley had traced him to a deserted island in the Atlantic where he was researching something endlessly boring about monk seals or similar. That was where the true suffering had started.

Perhaps it was his location and lack of shopping opportunities for toothpaste or just poor hygiene, but he had foul breath. Crowley learned from him—quite quickly, he had an embarrassingly low pain threshold—that the imbecile had sold it to some Portuguese smugglers. Crowley had stuck around to watch the seals awhile—they'd amused him, flopping about—and then moved on.

The smugglers had been a little harder to track down, not having a website for their nefarious activities. He'd eventually tracked them though, and—despite their even fouler breath—he'd had a good time working the information out of them. Apparently, they had lost the blade to some Moroccan pirates when what passed as their leader had played poker after too much Ginja. He'd left them pretty much massacred, though the leader still whimpered when Crowley trod on his hand on the way out the door, and moved on.

The pirates had been harder still to locate, but eventually Crowley had found them in the process of boarding a yacht manned by a crew attempting to travel the world for charity while wearing flipflops or something equally stupid. Crowley had dispatched them with cheer and set his targets on the pirates. They'd not had bad oral hygiene. They'd had _no_ oral hygiene. Crowley was tempted to show them what a toothbrush was before he killed them, but ultimately couldn't be bothered. He had left them with what finally seemed like some useful information. He had a name of what sounded like a hopeful candidate for the Blade. A black-market dealer called André Develin with good old, all-American connections. He'd been the easiest to trace and Crowley had arranged a meeting.

He waited in the Yale Club lounge for his guest to arrive, sipping a glass of Glencraig and taking in the tasteful ambience. With his Hell duties and the occasional visit to Bobby Singer's hovel, he didn't often have time to enjoy the finer things. He thought that perhaps when Metatron was dead, Hell sprung open, and Sam housetrained, he would make time for a little more indulgence. After all, he deserved it.

A man with sparse black hair and a neatly trimmed beard approached the bar and spoke to one of the tenders. He was pointed to Crowley's table and nodded his thanks before approaching. Crowley raised a glass to him as he took the seat opposite and slid off his ugly paisley scarf.

"Mr. Develin, I presume."

"Mr. Crowley?"

Crowley nodded. "A drink?"

"No, thank you," he said politely. "I prefer to do business with a clear head."

"Very wise," Crowley said approvingly, taking another sip of his whiskey. He set his glass down and leaned forward slightly. "I am looking for something specific that I hear you have. It is a blade, a very old blade. It might look a little homemade—which, incidentally, it is —but it's valuable."

Develin nodded. "I know what you are looking for, but I am afraid to say it's no longer in my possession."

"Where is it?"

"I cannot betray my client's identity. People pay me a lot of money for my discretion."

Crowley sighed. He had not come this far to be beaten by some idiot human's confidentiality clause.

He pushed over the briefcase he'd brought with his with his foot and said in a low voice. "Take a look in there and tell me if your professional pride will allow you to talk then."

Develin bent and popped open the catches. He opened it a little and peered in at the neatly arranged piles of banknotes that would be found missing from the vault of a well-known international bank in the morning. He snapped them closed again and pushed it back to Crowley. "I am sorry, Mr. Crowley, but I cannot tell you."

Crowley sighed. "You have no idea the journey it has been to get this point, the trials and halitosis I have endured. I am going to find out who your buyer is, even if I have to stuff myself down your throat to get it."

He looked mildly horrified. "Excuse me?"

Crowley leaned forward and spoke in a menacing voice. "You are going to tell me, even if I have to shove my hands through your gut and use your intestines as a skipping rope.

Develin paled. "I don't think…"

"You _don't_ think. That's the problem. Look into my eyes and see if I am joking."

Develin obeyed and his eyes widened with fear as Crowley allowed his own to turn red.

"Dr. Laura McElroy National Institute of Antiquities in Kansas City, Missouri," he said in a rasping voice.

"Thank you," Crowley said cheerfully. He stood and nudged the briefcase over to Develin again. "Keep the change. Buy yourself a new scarf. That one's hideous."

It wasn't as if it was his money, and that scarf really was ugly. If they ever crossed paths again, Crowley's eyes would be spared the view.

xXx

Dean was sitting on the couch in Bobby's living room, his eyes staring out of the room to the basement door. Bobby and Castiel were sitting at the table talking. He could have heard what they were saying if he'd tried, but he couldn't be bothered. He was sitting in silence, waiting for the footsteps on the stairs that would tell him Sam coming up from the basement, knuckles probably red and bleeding again, expression closed and eyes hard.

He had given up trying to get Sam to talk, as it did no good. When he tried to engage him when he came upstairs, around Castiel or Bobby, Sam would declare himself tired and leave for the motel. When Dean went to the basement to talk to him, Sam answered simple questions with brief replies and ignored anything remotely related to what he was doing, how he was feeling, or anything at all linked to the Mark. He would look at Dean as if willing him to leave so he could continue in peace.

Dean had once waited at the top of the stairs after Sam descended, listening, and he'd heard the Enochian words spoken in a beseeching tone between the impact of fist on leather. There was no need to guess to whom he was praying. It hurt Dean to think of his brother's suffering, to know he was so close and yet an ocean away from them all. He wished more than anything he could help, but Sam had closed off, left him behind. It was like he was grieving a brother that still lived.

Dean looked up as Bobby came to a stop in front of him. He was holding out a bottle of beer, which Dean took and cradled in his hands.

"Willing him up here ain't gonna make him come," Bobby said.

Dean sighed and nodded. "I know."

"You need to find something else to do, Dean. You're going to lose your mind just waiting on him to open up all the time. We both know it won't happen until he's ready, and no amount of tying yourself in knots is going to change that."

"What else can I do?" Dean asked, genuinely seeking guidance. "I don't know how to reach him."

Bobby shrugged. "Focus on what you _can_ control, not what you want to control."

"You think I want to control Sam?" he asked angrily, lurching to his feet.

"No," Bobby said quickly.

"Dean Winchester wanting to control someone? Impossible," a snide voice said from the hall doorway. Crowley had arrived. "Hate to interrupt the family therapy session, but I have news." He opened the door to the basement and shouted down the stairs. "Oi, Moose! Come on up."

There was the sound of feet pounding up the stairs and Sam came into the room. He was flushed and as he entered, he ran a bandana over his face. His eyes were bright and engaged as he looked at Crowley. "Do you have it?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Crowley said sarcastically. "How are you?"

"Do you have it?" Sam asked again with a scowl.

"Not exactly."

"Then what are you doing here?" Sam asked angrily.

"Thought you might like a status update. I have _found_ it but, technically, I can't get at it."

"Why not?" Dean asked suspiciously as Sam asked, "Where is it?"

Crowley ignored them both and said, "The time I've had trying to track this down, you have no idea. I have suffered as no demon ever has before—taking up deep sea diving, bouncing over Europe. The eviscerations alone were… well, actually a lot of fun, but that doesn't devalue the trials I have undergone for you."

"For us?" Dean asked. "You have as much to get out of this as us. You want Metatron gone just as much as we do."

"True," Crowley said thoughtfully. "Okay. It's in Missouri, and I can't get it because the holder of the blade also happens to be a client of mine."

"Where in Missouri?" Sam asked intensely.

"Whoa, wait, Sam," Dean said, holding up his hands. "Let's just take a minute." He turned his attention to Crowley. "What do you mean she's a client?"

"She's got a deal," Bobby said.

Crowley nodded. "Gold star to Singer. Yes. She's one of my marked, and while I would love to have my hounds turn her into chow, there are rules. She's protected from me and my kind for another six years yet."

"So, what do we do?" Dean asked.

"Well, she works as a curator at some fancy-pants antiquities department. I think it involves buying old crap and dating it. I don't know. Not my area. Anyway, it's in Kansas City and from what I understand it has some serious security. You're going to have to Jason Bourne your way in and snatch it."

"Yeah, because we're such expert safecrackers," Bobby scoffed.

Crowley shrugged. "Then I guess you'll need some help."

"Thought you said she was off-limits to you," Dean said.

"She is, but that doesn't mean _you_ can't kidnap her and make her open the place up for you, does it?"

"Got an address for her?" Sam asked.

"Sam!" Bobby said, shocked.

"What?" Sam asked tonelessly.

Bobby colored. "You're talking about taking a woman hostage. An innocent, Sam. That's not okay!"

"She's not that innocent," Crowley put in.

"Shut up, Crowley," Dean growled. "What kind of security are we up against?"

Castiel looked stunned. "Dean!"

Dean turned to him. "What do you want me to do, Cas?" he asked, jerking his head at Sam. "He's going in regardless. We have to get the blade so this will be over. The sooner we get Metatron, the sooner I get my brother back."

Sam seemed to be ignoring their conversation altogether. He was looking at Crowley, impatiently waiting to get the information he wanted.

"Don't you understand yet?" Castiel asked angrily. "This will not end with Metatron. The Mark is not something you can just will away when you're finished with it."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked uneasily.

"I mean that–"

"Enough!" Sam shouted, cutting him off. "Crowley, where is this woman?"

Crowley looked amused as he answered. "She lives in Platte Gardens, Kansas City. You don't have a chance at getting her there though. She'd have less security if she lived in Fort Knox. Your best bet is to get her when she's traveling. She heads home around six every day on the I-29. You'll know her, as she'll be driving one of those garish Hummer nightmares. You could try running her off the road, but I think she'd win. Maybe pretend to be run over, actually let her run you over. Whatever works for you."

Sam nodded thoughtfully.

"You're not serious!" Bobby exploded. "You're going to do this to an innocent woman on a _demon's_ say-so? When the hell are you boys going to learn?"

Sam ignored him and walked to the door. He glanced back at Dean and said, "You coming?"

"Dean!" Bobby shouted.

"What am I supposed to do?" Dean asked plaintively. "He's going to do it with or without me. At least this way I can try to protect him."

Bobby threw his hands up, exasperated, as Dean followed his brother out of the door, a sick twisting feeling in his gut.

 **SO…. They're on their way to the Blade. The next it one of my favorite chapters as we get to see Sam in the presence of the Blade at last.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	10. Chapter 9

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nine**_

The drive to Missouri was tense. Sam plotted out the route for them, announced he had found a good spot for them to lie in wait for the doctor, and then lapsed into silence broken only occasionally with muttered Enochian. Dean bore it in silence for a while and then he asked, "What are you saying?"

Sam turned incredulous eyes on him. "I'm asking him about his day. What the hell do you think I'm saying, Dean?"

"I don't know," Dean said quietly. "I'm sorry." He was aware that it had been an insensitive question. Curiosity had gotten the better of him though. If Sam had wanted him to know what he was saying, he would have spoken in English.

Sam shook off his apology. "I'm telling him I'm getting him back," he said.

Thinking maybe Sam was opening up a little, he asked, "Does it help? Talking to him I mean."

"No," Sam said bluntly. "I don't think he can even hear me."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Because it's all I have," he said. "There's the smallest chance he can hear, and I want him to know I haven't given up."

"Have you told him about the Mark?"

"No," Sam said with a sigh. "He never told me about Cain or the Mark. He told me everything else. He told me about Lilith and all the other demons, all the terrible things he had done, but he never told me about this, so he obviously never wanted me to know. I think he was ashamed, so I don't want to make it harder for him by telling him I know."

"And what about when he comes back and sees it?"

Sam shrugged. "I have to hope it's gone before then."

Dean bit his bottom lip. He didn't think getting rid of the Mark was going to be that easy. Castiel had said as much. He had a very real fear that the Mark was something that was there for life. His hope was that when Sam got Lucifer back, he would be back to how he had been before—love-struck, happy, disgustingly cute with his lover—but he wasn't confident. This was as open as he had been with Dean for weeks, and yet it was still just a shadow of what they'd once had together.

Sam glanced at the map displayed on his phone. "Take the next exit."

Dean turned on the blinker and they left the highway.

They drove along a long road sparsely spotted with large, gated houses, and Sam directed them to stop at a stretch of untended fields. "This'll do," he said.

Dean hadn't even cut the engine before Sam was out and walking around to the trunk. He popped it open and rooted through the contents. Then, with a sound of triumph, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a pistol.

"What are those for?" Dean asked.

Sam looked almost amused but his tone was flat as he answered. "Do you think she'll sit quietly in the backseat if we ask her nicely?"

Dean hadn't really considered that aspect of it. He guessed he should have known that kidnapping was going to involve some form of violence.

"We're not shooting her!" he growled.

"What good would that do us?" Sam asked curiously. "We need her alive if she's going to get us into the vault."

"No shooting anyone?" Dean checked.

"No shooting," Sam confirmed.

He tucked the gun into the back of his pants and the handcuffs in his pocket and then leaned against the side of the car.

"Now what?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. "We wait for a garish Hhummer."

Dean bit down the annoyed retort at Sam's superior tone, knowing it would do no good anyway. It might even make Sam take off on his own to do this.

Sam stared pointedly at the end of the road, waiting for a flash of a car on the horizon. Suddenly, he stepped forward and said, "Here she comes. Get on the ground."

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed impatiently. "How do you think we're going to make her stop?" He glanced back and sighed, irritated. "The hell with this." He drew back a fist and before Dean could vocalize a question, he had been socked in the stomach by his brother. He folded forward, gasping for breath and trying not to puke. Then he felt a blow on the back of his head and he collapsed to the ground, consciousness deserting him.

* * *

As Dean folded forward, Sam brought his clasped hands down on the back of Dean's head. Dean dropped hard before Sam had a chance to ease his descent. He quickly turned away and checked the progress of the approaching truck. It was close but not close enough for her to have seen what he'd done. He bent down and pressed his fingers to Dean's throat. His pulse was strong and steady; he was just unconscious. He would probably be pissed when he woke up, but that was nothing new lately.

When the sound of the truck's engine was close, slowing, he straightened and rushed into the road with his hands raised above his head. "Help!" he shouted.

The Hummer pulled to a stop on the side of the road and the driver's door opened. The woman that climbed out was pretty in a too-groomed way. She rushed towards them as Sam started speaking in a panicked voice. "Help me! My brother just collapsed. I don't know what's wrong with him. He was fine a minute ago." As he spoke, he hurried back to squat at Dean's side and laid a hand on his forehead. He was willing Dean to stay out as long as this took, or at least to be smart enough to play along. "I can't get a signal on my cell to call an ambulance."

"Reception can be spotty here," she said. "I'll check mine."

"Thank you," Sam said gratefully.

He waited until the clack of her heels had moved away and then he rose smoothly and pulled the gun from the back of his pants. He crept behind her as she leaned into her car and rooted through her purse. He clapped one hand over her mouth and pressed the muzzle of the gun into the back of her neck.

"Are you Doctor McElroy?" he asked in a low voice. "Nod or shake your head."

She nodded.

"Good. Now, put your hands behind your back."

She slowly withdrew her hands from her purse and brought them to the small of her back.

"I'm going to remove the gun," Sam said. "If you try to do anything dumb, like try to run or scream, I am going to shoot you in the foot. It won't kill you, but it'll hurt. Understand?"

She nodded again and Sam removed his hand from her mouth and tucked the gun under his arm while he cuffed her hands together. He turned her and saw tears swimming in her eyes. He felt like an asshole, but it was what needed to happen for him to get the Blade.

"Now, we're going for a ride. Are you going to behave if I put you in the front or do you need to go into the trunk?"

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"No speaking unless I say so, please," Sam said mildly. "Are you going to behave?"

She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Good." Sam tugged her arm. She stumbled but Sam held her up. He opened the front passenger door of the car and watched as she backed into the seat and then pulled her legs inside. He slammed the door and then turned his attention to Dean who was still prone of the ground. He bent and slapped his cheeks. "Wake up, Dean!" Dean's head jostled but his eyes remained closed.

With a sigh, Sam opened the back door and hefted his brother up and onto the backseat. He had to bend his knees to be able to close the door. When Dean was in, albeit uncomfortably, he slammed the door and walked to the Hummer. He grabbed the doctor's purse and then bent to the front left tire. Using the tip of his switchblade, he pressed down on the pin to let the air out of the tire, and then, satisfied that anyone seeing the abandoned vehicle would believe she'd gotten a flat and walked to one of the houses for help, he went back to the Impala and climbed in behind the wheel.

He tossed the purse onto the floor of the backseat and tucked the gun under his leg then started the engine and pulled out onto the road. He glanced to the side and saw the doctor was visibly shaking. He thought he should probably reassure her that she wasn't going to be hurt, but he didn't want to devalue the threats he'd already made.

"This won't take long," he said instead.

She whimpered and he rolled his eyes.

"We're just going to take a trip back to your office, pick something up, and then I'll let you go."

She squeaked as if she was about to speak and then caught herself.

"What?" he asked.

"We don't keep cash in the office," she whispered.

"Didn't think you would. I want something else I heard you have. It's technically not even stealing, as it belongs to me already." His hand came absentmindedly to the mark on his arm and rubbed as he described the blade he was looking for.

He'd checked the location of her offices on his phone when they'd been driving to town, and was confident he would be able to find it. Nothing said pathetic quite as much as your abductor asking for directions.

They were almost there when he heard a moan on the backseat. "What the hell?" Dean groaned.

"You okay?" Sam asked. "Need me to pull over so you can puke?"

"No," Dean said testily, pushing himself upright and looking around. Sam watched him in the rearview mirror as his eyes fell on the doctor sitting awkwardly in the front seat with her hands cuffed behind her back. "What the hell have you done?"

"This is Doctor McElroy," Sam said easily. "She's going to help us out."

Dean drew a deep breath that was apparently supposed to calm him, but it did nothing for his tone as he asked, "Did you hurt her?"

"No!" Sam said irritably.

"Did he?" he asked the doctor.

She cast Sam a nervous glance and he said, "You can talk to him. He'll never shut up if you don't."

"He pressed a gun into the back of my neck and handcuffed me, but he didn't hurt me."

"I'm sorry about this," Dean said apologetically. "Neither of us are going to hurt you. We just need your help."

"He said we have something of his," she said.

"I guess you do," Dean said thoughtfully. "As soon as he has it, we'll let you go."

* * *

The woman was clearly terrified, and Dean felt like an asshole for allowing her to be involved in this, but it was what they had to do to get the Blade, Lucifer and therefore the real Sam back. They really had no choice.

Sam drove them to a pair of heavy gates and pulled up beside a keypad console. "What's the code?" he asked.

"It's eight-eight-one-five, but you… you need a card, too," she said.

Sam scowled. "It better not be in your purse."

"It's in my jacket's inside pocket."

Sam reached over and pulled open her jacket then rooted inside, pulling out a card that looked like the sort they'd used to unlock hotel doors in the past. Sam leaned out of the window and slid the card into the slot then entered the number. There was a beep and the gates opened.

"How much security are we facing?" Sam asked.

"The card and code will get you to the vault, then there's two guards."

"Armed?" Dean asked.

"Yes."

"Awesome," Dean groaned.

Sam shrugged. "We'll handle it."

"Please don't hurt them," she begged.

Sam's lips pressed into a thin line.

"We agreed," Dean reminded his brother. "No shooting anyone."

"Fine," Sam huffed like an eternal teen, pissed at the world.

Dean and the doctor both breathed a sigh of relief and Sam rolled his eyes, as if he couldn't understand what the issue was. Dean supposed that, in his current state, he really didn't.

They drove to the main door and Sam parked in the spot marked for the doctor. Dean climbed out and opened the doctor's door. She looked afraid and didn't move until Sam had stepped up beside him.

"We're going to take the cuffs off now," he said. "If you try to run or alert anyone to what's happening, you'll regret it, understand?"

"You said you wouldn't shoot," she said tremulously.

"I did," Sam agreed. "But I know all kinds of ways to hurt someone without a gun. You much of an actor? Do any amateur theatre in college?"

She nodded. "A little."

"Good. Now you're the lead. We're private buyers and you're giving us a tour. Anyone we meet better be convinced of that, okay?"

"I can do that. There shouldn't be anyone but Matthew and David though. There's usually only additional security on site after hours."

"Then it'll be even easier for you," Sam said.

He pushed her forward and unlocked the cuffs at her back. She brought her hands in front of her with a hiss of pain. Dean had been cuffed and tied up enough times to know how much your muscles burned after being trapped in the same position too long.

"Come on then," Sam said impatiently. "Let's get going."

She got out of the car and Sam slammed the door closed behind her. He handed her the keycard and gestured for her to open the door for them. Her hands shook slightly as she entered the code and the door clicked open.

Sam gestured her in and they looked around. There was a desk opposite the door where he guessed a receptionist would usually be seated. It was empty now though. There was no sign of anyone else there at all.

"Which way?" Sam asked.

She nodded to another door and said, "This way," as she walked towards it. They followed her though it and another until they came to a place with glass walled rooms.

He looked inside, certain that at any moment they were going to meet someone working late or one of the aforementioned security guards, but there was no one. They came to another door, a heavier and more secure one than they had met so far, and the doctor came to a halt.

"This it?" Sam asked.

"Yes, the security guards will be through here."

"Then put your game face on," he said. "We're eclectic millionaires, remember, that you're showing your best bits to."

She nodded and swiped the key through the panel and entered a code. The door swung open automatically and Sam walked through. There were voices and what sounded like a televised baseball game on.

They entered and Dean saw a room with a small television balanced on a filing cabinet. Two men were there and they were facing away from the television, looking at the door.

"Doctor McElroy," the larger of the two said. Dean could see muscular arms beneath the white cotton of his dress shirt. "We weren't expecting you back till tomorrow."

"Hi, Matthew," she said. "I forgot that I had a prearranged appointment with these gentlemen. They're here to look at the Windsor collection with a view to a purchase."

Both security guards eyed them curiously. "I see."

Sam sighed and said, "Is this going to take long? We do have a plane to catch."

"Of course not, sir," the doctor said. "Right this way."

"Would you like us to accompany you?" the second guard asked.

Sam looked him up and down disdainfully. "I don't think your expert eye will be necessary. We know what we're looking for."

They seemed offended but also less suspicious. They were obviously used to dealing with asshole buyers.

"If you would follow me," the doctor said, leading them to a door at the other side of the room. Sam raised his head arrogantly and Dean tried to imitate him as he followed them into the second room. The door clicked closed behind them and Dean looked around. The room was lined with shelves of neatly labeled plastic gray boxes.

"Good job," Sam said. "You get the Oscar."

She laughed a little shakily. "Thanks."

"Now, which box is it?" Sam asked.

"G-4.8."

Sam scanned the shelves, but Dean found it first and called to Sam, "I got it."

He pulled it from the shelf and set it on the steel table in the middle of the room. He unlatched the lid and opened it to reveal a cloth wrapped bundle. Dean reached to lift it out, but Sam pushed his hand away. He opened the coverings and Dean saw a long blade formed of a bone with a leather wrapped handle. Even without knowing the history behind it, Dean would have known it was ancient. Its history was etched into every inch of it.

Sam reached in slowly and gripped the handle. He froze, his eyes wide and pupils dilated, and his knuckles whitened.

Dean laid a hand on his arm and felt his muscles tensed like rocks. Then he flinched as there was a burst of static as red light passed from the handle up his arm to just below his elbow. Dean could see it beneath the sleeve of his shirt.

"Hey!" he said. "You okay?"

Sam's jaw was tensed but he nodded.

"What's going on?" the doctor asked.

Neither Sam nor Dean answered her at first. Dean watched carefully as Sam's jaw slowly relaxed and his eyes returned to normal.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Sam said dismissively. "We need to get out of here."

"Yes," Dean agreed. He wondered how they were supposed to get the Blade out without the security guards noticing though. He was pretty sure there was usually more than cash exchange and carry out involved in buying from this place.

"You're going to let me go?" the doctor asked hopefully.

"We said we would, didn't we?" Sam said. "You've just got to get us out of here, and you'll be free go. You can get a cab home, right?"

She looked immensely relieved.

"Nice job, boys," Crowley said behind them.

Dean spun on his heel. "What are you doing here?"

"Wanted a progress update," he said. "Didn't expect you to have it already. You've exceeded my wildest expectations."

"I thought you couldn't interfere," Sam said.

"I can't and I'm not. I'm just a casual observer."

There was a knock on the door and a voice called, "Doctor McElroy. Is everything okay in there?"

The doctor looked from the door to Sam with the wicked looking blade in his hands and Crowley who had inexplicably, to her at least, appeared. "Fine," she said in a high voice. "We're just finishing now."

Sam sighed. "There goes your Oscar."

There was beeping as someone entered the code to the door outside, and it started to open. Dean waited with bated breath as Sam tucked the Blade back into the box and reached for the gun in his pants.

"Sam," Dean warned.

The door flew open and Dean had a glimpse of a gun before he was thrown back against the wall. His head hit hard and he heard the muffled sound of a gunshot through his ringing ears. There was a grunt of pain and then a curse. Dean shook his head and blinked to clear his vision. Sam was standing in front of him, his stance tensed. He didn't seem to notice the blood wetting the sleeve of his shirt.

"Sam!" Dean gasped.

"You really shouldn't have done that," Sam growled.

Dean pushed away from the wall and reached for him, but Sam had already launched himself forward. There was another gunshot, and the doctor screamed as Dean's heart failed, but Sam was still moving. He kicked the first guard's gun out of his hand and grabbed the second's and pointed it at the ceiling. There was a third shot and then both guns were on the floor. Sam brushed them away with his foot and then threw a punch at the bigger guard's stomach. He folded over as the breath rushed out of him and he dropped to his knees. Sam punched the other guard, and his nose spouted blood. He hands came up to his face and Sam socked him in the stomach, too. With them both on their knees, heaving for breath, Dean staggered forward and grabbed Sam's arm.

"We have to get out of here," he said weakly. The second blow to his head in as many hours had done some damage that made him feel weak and slow.

Sam wasn't listening though. He was aiming kicks at the security guards. They were grunting as the blows landed. The doctor was cowering against the wall and Crowley was watching Sam with a look of professional appraisal.

Dean reached him and wrapped his arms around Sam's chest. There was no moving him though; the combination of Sam's strength and the weakness from Dean's head injuries defeated him.

"Crowley!" he snapped. "A little help!"

With a long-suffering sigh, Crowley grabbed Sam's shoulders and yanked him back. Sam growled like an animal and Crowley chuckled. "Save something for Metatron, Moose."

Sam slowly relaxed and Crowley released him.

Sam bent to the guards that were moaning with pain. "Shoot at my brother again, shoot at _anyone_ and I'll make sure it's the last thing you do." With a sick thunk, he slammed their heads together, knocking them both unconscious.

Dean grabbed a bandana from his pocket and fumbled to tie it around the bloodiest point of Sam's arm. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"Just a graze," Sam said confidently. "You?" He stared into Dean's eyes and sighed. "Your pupils are blown."

"I'm fine," Dean said. "Just a concussion."

Sam turned to Crowley. "Get him back to Bobby's. Now."

"What? No!" Dean said. "We need to get you fixed up. You're bleeding, Sam."

Sam ignored him. He looked at the doctor that was cowering in the corner and said, "You are going to forget everything you saw and heard tonight. You have traumatic amnesia, understand?"

She nodded jerkily. "I can do that."

"Good." He went back to the table and picked up the box containing the Blade.

"What about them though?" she asked, looking at the guards on the floor.

"I don't think they'll be able to remember their own names for a while. We don't need to worry about them. Now, Crowley, get Dean home."

When Crowley hesitated, he lifted the box in his arms and said, "Take him home or I'll test out this Blade on you."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Since you asked _so_ nicely, I will." He walked over to Dean and put a hand on his shoulder then turned to the doctor. "See you in six years, dear."

She looked confused, "What?"

Crowley didn't answer. He squeezed Dean's shoulder tightly and Dean felt himself being dragged away under the demon's impetus.

* * *

 **So… That was a new side to Sam. He was a lot of fun to write like this. How was he to read?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	11. Chapter 10

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for fixing my mistakes and improving with your little additions. Thank you Gredelina1 for being the best cheerleader a writer could ask for.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Ten**_

Dean's first emotion as he arrived in Bobby's house was fear.

"Oh, dear," Crowley said mildly. "This doesn't look good."

Bobby and Castiel were sprawled on the floor in the library with bloody wounds on their temples, their eyes closed and faces devoid of animation. The room was in chaos. Books were strewn over the floor as if someone had swept them from the shelves and kicked over the stacks on the floor. The fridge door was open and there were broken bottles of beer on the kitchen counter and floor, as if someone had smashed them by the neck. A bottle of whiskey had been dropped on the floor in the entry to the library.

"I'll leave you to it," Crowley said, disappearing as Dean rushed towards his friends on unsteady legs, crunching the glass under his boots.

"Bobby! Cas!" he shouted.

He dropped to his knees between them and quickly checked their pulses. Both were steady and their breaths even. They appeared to just be unconscious. He pinched the lobe of Castiel's ear and said his name harshly.

Castiel's brow creased into a frown and he tried to pull away. Satisfied he was coming round, Dean turned his attention to Bobby and repeated the action.

"Go away," Bobby said drowsily.

Dean huffed a relieved laugh. "Come on, you two. Rise and shine."

"Dean?" Castiel said vaguely. "I thought you went with Sam."

"And I thought you were safe and conscious," Dean said. "So we're both surprised."

Castiel sat up slowly and brought a hand to his temple. He lowered it and look at the smear of blood on his fingertips. "Ouch."

"You're fine. I've had worse shaving nicks. Bobby, you with me?" he asked loudly.

"I'm not deaf," Bobby grumbled. His eyes opened and looked around the room. "What happened?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing." Dean held a hand out to him and Bobby allowed himself to be eased upright.

Bobby shook his head experimentally and winced. "Damn."

"What do you remember?" Dean asked.

"Me and Cas were talking," he said. "There was a noise outside. The door opened, there was a bang and then nothing. Next thing I know you're trying to pull my ear off."

"Next time I'll wake you with a bucket of water," Dean promised. "You remember any more than him, Cas?"

"I think even less," Castiel said. "My head feels like it's full of cotton and my vison is wavering."

"That'd be a concussion." Dean got to his feet and went into the kitchen. He filled two cloths with ice and carried them back to Bobby and Castiel who had made it as far as the couch before flopping down. He handed them an icepack each and considered getting one for himself. He thought it was probably past the time in which it would be effective though, so he didn't bother.

Bobby peered up at him as he dragged a chair around and sat in front of them. He felt better sitting. His own mind was clearing.

"Is it my eyes that are wonky or are you high?" Bobby asked.

"What? No."

"Then why are your pupils blown to hell?" he asked.

"I had a knock on the head as well," Dean said. "Actually, I had two. Guess I'm lucky."

"You were here?" Bobby asked looking confused.

"No, I was with Sam, going after the blade."

"Where is Sam?" Castiel asked. "At the motel?"

"He's on his way." Dean was trying not to think of the bloodstain on Sam's sleeve and him driving himself back from Kansas City. He hoped he would be smart enough to get his wound taken care of before he left town, but he doubted this new, harder version of his brother would bother.

"How were you hurt?" Castiel asked.

"The first time, Sam knocked me out," he said. "The second, I cracked the same spot on a wall when he threw me back."

"Sam did this!" Bobby looked astonished, but Castiel nodded soberly. It was if he was expecting the answer, had been suspecting that Sam would hurt one of them all along.

Dean noted Castiel's lack of surprise and hurried to explain. "The first time it was because he needed me on the ground. We were waiting for the woman to show up, and we needed a reason for her to stop. I didn't catch on quick enough so he…"

"Knocked you out," Castiel finished.

"Nice to see he's taking such good care of you," Bobby said dryly.

Dean was annoyed, and his voice was harsh as he replied, "First off, he doesn't need to take care of me. That's not his job; I can take care of my own damned self. Secondly, he saved my life tonight. There was a trigger-happy pair of security guards and Sam threw me out of the way to save me. That's when the second knock happened. He got himself shot to protect me, so don't you dare judge him."

Sam had risked his own life to save Dean's, and as much as that had scared him, it made him feel immense relief, too. He had been so scared that he had lost Sam to Lucifer completely, but he had saved him. His instinct had been to protect Dean, even when he was juiced up on whatever the Blade had done to him when he'd touched it the first time. That had to mean their bond was still there. It was just buried under his fear and need for Lucifer.

Bobby's color drained. "He was shot!"

"Where is he?" Castiel asked intensely.

"So now you care," Dean said bitterly.

"I care!" Bobby said angrily. "I think he's making bad choices and letting himself go down a dark path to get Lucifer back, but he's still my boy. I care more than ever since I see what he's doing to himself."

Dean sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just been a helluva day. He's on his way back from Kansas City now, though. He sent me back with Crowley because he was worried about my head."

Bobby nodded slowly. "That makes sense. You don't look so good. We should get you checked out."

"I'll be fine," Dean said. "Maybe you two should go by the hospital though. You were both knocked out, too."

"No need," Bobby said. "It's not so bad. How about you, Cas? Think you want to get checked out?"

"No," Castel said firmly. "I will be fine, too. We should help Sam though. How badly was he hurt?"

"Just a graze," Dean said. "We got off damn lucky."

"Not much we can do yet then," Bobby said. "We have no idea what route he's taking to get here. We'll just have to wait for him to arrive."

"We could call him," Castiel suggested. "Just to check."

"Yeah." Dean took his phone from his pocket and hit the speed-dial assigned to Sam. It rang through to voicemail. Trying to tamp down his worry, he reminded himself that Sam was driving injured, and it wouldn't be easy to answer until he stopped. He left a message asking Sam to call and then hung up.

"We should clean up," Bobby said.

"I'll do it," Dean offered.

"You will rest," Castiel corrected. "We will do it. You are injured, Dean, and I cannot heal you anymore."

Dean started to argue, but Bobby spoke over him. "Two head injuries trumps one when it comes to who needs rest. Sit your ass down and put this on your head." He tossed the icepack to Dean.

Dean caught it and put it to his head, turning his phone over in his hand. He thought perhaps he would wait a few more minutes, give Sam time to stop, and then he'd call again.

* * *

Sam realized early on that he needed to do more than slap a bandage on his arm and call it good. It was bleeding sluggishly, and once the adrenaline wore off, it started to burn.

He pulled into the first motel he came to and put on the jacket from the trunk before checking in. It was a grungy and decidedly dodgy looking place, and he didn't think they'd ask many questions about the blood soaked through the sleeve of his shirt, but he didn't want to take any chances. It would be a pain in the ass to have to find another motel.

There was kid behind the front desk that seemed to be trying to lift his believable age a little with a wispy beard. He checked Sam in fast though, and didn't seem to notice that Sam was favoring his left arm or the blood that was beginning to seep through the jacket sleeve. The movement of putting the jacket on seemed to have aggravated the injury.

He took the box they'd retrieved from the museum out and tucked it under his good arm and grabbed the small duffel with the change of clothes they always kept in the trunk and the first aid kit before letting himself into his room. It wasn't even close to being called clean, and Sam tallied the risk of infection by tending to his wound here to letting it sit a little longer. He decided on going ahead and fixing it anyway.

He put the box on the bed, stripped off his jacket and shirt, then carried the kit into the bathroom which was slightly cleaner than the bedroom. Opening the kit and setting it on the counter, he appraised the wound. It was definitely going to need stitches.

It was hardly the first time he'd had to stitch himself up, but it had been a while. Nowadays, Lucifer always had an instant fix for his injuries. It would have been easier if Dean had been there to help, but Sam was still sure he had made the right choice sending him back to Bobby's. Not only had it gotten him close to Bobby, who had better medical knowledge than any of them, but it also got him away from Sam while he was still not entirely sure of himself following the attack on the security guards.

He shook away the thought of what had happened, how he had felt, and turned his attention to his arm. He dampened some gauze under the faucet and wiped around the injury to give himself a clear area to work with. There was a suture kit which was a rare find. They usually used a sewing needle and dental floss. He guessed Dean must have acquired it at some point during Sam's time with Lucifer in the Cage.

Gritting his teeth, he poured over some peroxide and then split open the packet containing the needle and thread and set to work. He couldn't pinch the skin together with only one hand, so the stitches were broad, tugging the skin together with the thread enough to satisfy him. It hurt, but not as much as he had anticipated it would. He had either toughened up, or there was still some adrenaline in his system. He hoped for the former but thought the latter was more likely.

Halfway through, his phone rang in the bedroom. He ignored it, working to close skin as best he could. When he was done, he wiped the area with more peroxide and dried it before putting on a dressing. He cleaned up the blood from where it had dripped down his arm to his wrist and went back into the bedroom. His shirt was a bust, so he tossed it into the duffel to be disposed of when he got back to Bobby's. He pulled on a clean t-shirt and picked up his phone just as it began to ring again. Dean's name flashed across the screen, and he sat on the edge of the bed as he answered. "Yeah?"

" _How are you doing?"_ Dean asked at once.

"Fine. You get yourself checked out yet?"

" _I don't need to. I'm okay now."_

Sam shook his head. "Your pupils not the size of saucers anymore then?"

" _Nope. It's all good. Besides, I'm not the one that got shot. How's it looking?"_

"I just finished stitching it," Sam said. "It's all nice and neat."

" _It needed stitches! I thought it was a graze."_

"It was, just a little deeper than I thought. I've taken care of it. And I feel fine," he said, forestalling Dean's question. "How about you?"

" _I'm okay. Just a headache. I'm not the only one. Bobby and Cas got knocked out, too."_

"How the hell did that happen?"

" _Someone rolled the place. Stuff tossed everywhere and broken glass. They're cleaning up now."_

"What was taken?" Sam asked.

" _No idea. You know what it's like here; chaotic even before people come to trash it."_

Sam considered. He couldn't think of anything Bobby had that people would want to steal from him. It wasn't like he kept wads of cash under the mattress.

"Are they okay?"

" _Yeah, they'll be fine."_ He sounded pleased that Sam was asking. _"You on your way back?"_

"I'll head back in the morning," he said.

" _You sure you're okay? I can come get you so you don't have to drive."_

"No need," Sam said. "I can get back quicker, even if I leave in the morning, if I'm not waiting for you. I need to get something to eat now anyway."

" _Yeah, okay. Make sure you drink some water or juice as well. You need to put back in the fluids you've lost. Let me know when you're on your way."_

"I will. Keep an eye on yourselves. I'll call when I'm on the road."

"Okay, Sammy," Dean said, sounding happy.

Sam ended the call and dropped the phone down onto the bed beside him with a sigh. His eyes drifted to the grey box. He pulled it towards him and unclipped the lid. The blade was lying on the protective cloths. His hand reached out of its own accord and his fingers caressed the leather wrapped hilt. It felt right to touch it. It gave him a warm feeling in his stomach that he hadn't felt for weeks. It was the same warmth he always felt when Lucifer touched him. He knew he felt it now because this was the link between them. This blade had been created because of Lucifer and it was going to reunite them.

His fingers curled around the handle and he lifted it from the box. It was heavy, solid, and it gave Sam a rush of something like excitement to wield it. It could be a deadly weapon. It _would_ be when they found Metatron. He would sink this into his heart when he'd gotten the information they needed. He would end the bastard that had dared steal Lucifer away from him and he would enjoy every moment.

They would set Crowley to finding the deviant angel, and in the meantime, Sam would practice with the blade. He wanted to know the balance and power of it before that kill. He felt the need to explore it properly, to know it. He supposed it was the connection to the Mark.

He knew he did need to eat to replenish his body after the blood he had lost, but he felt reluctant to leave the blade in the motel. If someone was to break in and steal it, everything would be for nothing. He would never get Lucifer back. He couldn't risk it, but neither could he carry it everywhere with him. He decided his safest bet was to lock it in the trunk of the impala.

He pulled on his jacket and carried the box out to the car. He placed it in the trunk and checked the devil's trap painted into the inside. It was perfect still, no breaks in the clean lines at all. He closed it and walked away. For the first few steps, he felt a kind of draw back towards to it, as if he needed to be close, but he pushed it away. He couldn't indulge that kind of paranoia.

He walked along the streets until he came to a bar that was advertising food in the window. He probably would have been better off finding a diner, but he needed a real drink, too. It wasn't too busy inside, and he was able to find a table and place his order for a beer and chaser and chicken burger. He would have preferred something healthier, but he needed to get a good amount of calories into him. While he waited for his food, he knocked back the whiskey and sipped his beer, looking at the people milling around, drinking and talking. There was a group of three by the pool table, burly looking men that were laughing loudly and casting looks around the room, their eyes occasionally falling on him. Sam sensed trouble there, but he knew he didn't want any part of it. He was going to eat his food and get out of there, leaving for Bobby's early in the morning.

His food arrived in the hands of a pretty waitress that tried to engage him in conversation. He thought her interest was a little more physical than just talking, and quickly shook her off, not wanting to give false hope. There was only one person he wanted in that sense, and he would never betray him by blowing off steam with this woman.

He ate quickly, some sixth sense telling him that it was better to get out of this place as soon as possible. He wasn't afraid, but he didn't want a pointless fight either, not after the security guards. He knew he had done what he'd needed to do. They had shot at Dean, they could have killed him, and all for the sake of protecting their crappy artifacts. In what world was that a good enough reason to kill someone? They hadn't been aiming at all. They could have killed as easily as they could have injured. They would have second thoughts before picking up a gun from now on, he thought, and that was better for everyone. People that dumb and reckless should never be armed.

When he'd eaten, he pushed away his plate and finished his beer before going to the bar to pay his tab. The waitress was just as friendly as before, and he was polite but distant. It wasn't until he was walking to the exit that things went wrong. One of the men that had been at the pool table, the smallest of the group, stepped into his path and spilled beer down his front before Sam was even close to touching him.

He stared balefully up at Sam and said, "You made me spill my beer."

"No," Sam said firmly. "You poured it down yourself. Maybe your hands aren't as steady as you like to think."

In a move that was almost theatrical, he held out the remainder of his drink to one of his buddies and adopted a fighting stance. Sam wondered what it was about him that made people want to fight him. It wasn't the first time it had happened. It could be his size, it presented a challenge he supposed. He wasn't in the mood though.

"I'm not fighting you," he said evenly. "So get out of my way and find someone else to measure up against."

"What did you say to me?" the man snapped with obvious and false affront.

"Get out of my way," Sam said, making to push him aside.

The man's fist swung up and landed on the corner of Sam right eye. His vision blurred, yet it didn't stop him. It angered him enough to add force to the blow that landed in the man's gut. He doubled over and one of his buddies came at Sam with his fist raised. Sam caught his wrist and twisted it hard, making him grunt in pain. When he released the man's wrist, he cradled it to his chest. The third man seemed wary of making the same mistake as his friends and stepping up to Sam.

He felt a darkness settle over him, a need to teach these men a lesson like he had the guards. It was as if he was above himself watching the scene. He wanted to fight now, to attack until they would never dare face off with someone else, but he pushed down the urge. There was no need. He didn't want to indulge that part of himself. It was just his anger at Metatron that he was displacing onto these idiots, that was the need roiling in him to hurt.

He shoved aside the two men that had attacked—the man still doubled over and the one clutching his wrist—and said to the third, "If you care about these two assholes, keep them on a shorter leash next time. Any of you even try to touch me again, I will kill you."

The man looked stunned, his eyes wide and lips parted, but he nodded jerkily. "Yeah, man. Sure."

Sam nodded and walked out of the bar. He felt something drawing him back to them as he pushed open the door and walked outside, almost as if he needed the fight, but he forced himself on down the street, the cool air clearing his mind, bringing him back to himself. He knew it had been misplaced anger and he would never have really killed those men, but he didn't notice his fingers rubbing against the mark on his forearm. He believed he was in control.

* * *

 **So… Sam controlled himself this time. Didn't give them the beating of a lifetime? That's good, right? He's got a handle on it maybe. Or not.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	12. Chapter 11

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this mess for me and Gredelina1 for all your help and support. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. It means the world to me.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eleven**_

Dean was waiting impatiently for Sam to get back. It was still early, and if he'd had a good night's sleep before leaving, he wouldn't be there for hours, but Dean suspected he'd be there soon. Sam hadn't been sleeping well since Lucifer was taken, so he wouldn't have slept long.

He stood at the kitchen window, holding a mug of coffee in his hands and staring out at the yard. Bobby and Castiel were at the table eating breakfast. Dean had skipped it, having no real appetite. His head felt better though. His pupils had returned to normal and the weakness had passed. He figured he'd gotten off lucky. Bobby and Castiel seemed better, too. The mystery was still why Bobby's place had been rolled at all. They'd cleaned up and found nothing missing.

"He's not going to come any faster just because you're staring," Bobby said.

Dean turned to face him. "I know."

"Then sit your ass down and eat something. He'll get here when he gets here. You said he sounded fine on the phone and he'd taken care of the wound. He'll be okay."

"You might feel better if you ate," Castiel said.

Dean shook his head. "Not hungry."

Castiel frowned. "You need to take care of yourself."

"Thanks for that, but I am fine." He heard a rumbling engine and turned back to the window. The Impala was pulling around the corner and coming to a stop. "You were saying?" He went to the door and opened it as Sam climbed out of the car. His relief at Sam's arrival quickly became worry when he saw his brilliant black eye. "What happened to you?"

Sam strode across the yard and up the porch steps with the grey box in his arms. Dean stepped back to let him enter and watched him as he crossed to the counter, put down the box, and poured himself a mug of coffee.

"Sam!" Dean said.

Sam sighed. "Some assholes tried to pick a fight with me last night in a bar. One of them got a lucky punch in." He probed the corner of the bruise. "It's fine. I took care of them."

"Are they alive?" Castiel asked.

Dean glared at him, disbelieving the inappropriate question.

"Yes, thank you, Castiel," Sam said. "They're alive. They've got some very mild injuries compared to what they wanted to do to me, and they're probably going to think twice about attacking someone again for no damn reason, but they're fine."

Castiel nodded, satisfied. Dean was going to have a talk with him next time they were alone about the question. He'd never had the best social skills, but there were some things that were just plain shitty to ask, no matter what was on Sam's arm. He conveniently forgot the fact he had seen Sam pound the two guards into unconsciousness the night before. He knew that was just because he had been protecting Dean.

"You hurt your arm any more in the fight?" he asked.

Sam pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt and looked at the bloody dressing covering it. "Huh. Might have popped a stitch."

"Let me see." Dean reached for the dressing and tugged on it before Sam could pull away. The stitches were broad and too tight; the skin around them was white and pinched. One stitch at the edge had torn. "Damn, Sammy."

"You stitch this with your eyes closed?" Bobby said, getting to his feet and peering at the wound.

Sam pulled away from them and rolled down his sleeve to cover the wound. "It's fine."

"It's going to scar nasty," Bobby said.

Sam shrugged. "Then Lucifer will take care of it when he gets back."

There was absolutely no doubt in his words. Now that he had the Blade, Sam was apparently more confident than ever that he would get his lover back. Dean was glad, as it was better than him breaking down and despairing. He even felt a tingle of nerves for himself at Lucifer's return. Things with him and Sam would be right when the archangel was back; he was sure of it. Sam would be back to his open, too soft self, and Dean would be able to relax.

Sam picked up his coffee and sipped it, his eyes drifting to the grey box on the counter.

"That's it then?" Bobby asked. "The Blade?"

Sam nodded. "That's it."

Dean thought he saw a glint in Sam's eyes. He quickly discounted it as the light though, not wanting to look too closely at what _might_ be there while he was feeling good about Sam.

"Can I see it?" Bobby asked.

Sam didn't answer, but he pulled the box towards him and lifted the catches to open the lid. He reached inside and lifted the Blade by the handle. He held it out in front of him, and Bobby stepped forward to get a better look. Castiel pushed his chair back hard, scraping the legs on the floor, and quickly walked away.

"Problem?" Sam asked him truculently.

"That is the weapon of the very first murder," Castiel said.

"Good to know it works then," Sam said evenly.

"It's definitely a scary looking thing," Bobby said.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "It's powerful, too. I can feel it."

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him but Sam seemed unconcerned. He was turning the Blade from side to side as if admiring it.

"You should put it away," Castiel said.

Sam rolled his eyes but he wrapped the Blade in the cloths it had been stored in and put it back into the box. He closed the lid and looked around the room. "Any word from Crowley?" he asked.

"He disappeared after dropping me back here last night," Dean said. "Haven't heard from him since."

"Well he needs to get his ass here," Sam said. "Sooner he finds Metatron, the better."

"Are you so eager to use the Blade already?" Castiel asked.

Sam froze and his expression became stony. "Am I eager to get the man I love back where he belongs? Yes, Castiel, I am. I'm eager to free all of your _family_. You think that makes me selfish maybe?"

"No," Castiel said. "I think it makes you impulsive."

Sam cursed and walked towards him. For a moment, Dean thought maybe he was going to attack him, but he merely brushed past him as if he wasn't there and went to the liquor cabinet. He took out the copper bowl and bags of ingredients needed for a demon summoning.

Dean watched him, only looking away as his phone rang. He frowned as he checked the caller ID. "Walt? What's going on?"

" _I was going to ask you the same damn question. What's with the demons?"_

"They're being taken out by a rogue angel," Dean said. "I thought Bobby already called you and filled you in."

" _He did, which is why I was surprised when I spotted a whole swarm of the bastards moving last night."_

"A swarm of demons?" Dean repeated in surprise, turning to look at the others.

Sam and Castiel returned his look, but Bobby was moving across the room to the bank of phones on his wall, one of which was ringing.

" _Yeah, demons. I thought you Winchesters were supposed to be smart. There's a bunch of them moving across the country, passing through Idaho, Montana, South Dakota, Nebraska, Colorado. Basically, all the states surrounding…"_

"Wyoming," Dean breathed. "The Devil's Gate."

"Exactly. Me and Roy are on our way there to check it out now, but we thought you would be able to save us a trip. You don't know anything about it?"

"Nothing," Dean said. "We were on a run in Missouri last night. It's nothing to do with us."

"It is now," Walt said. "We're all going to have to band together to take care of this. There's more than there was last time you two busted it open."

"Wait one damn minute," Dean snapped. "We didn't bust open anything. We were there to stop it last time. If we hadn't been, it would have been a helluva lot worse."

" _Yeah, sure,"_ he said dismissively. _"Shame you weren't there this time, I guess. Now we've got an ass-load more demons to deal with."_

Dean bit down his anger and said, "We'll get right on it." He didn't bother to say goodbye. He merely ended the call and stuffed the phone away.

Bobby was still talking, "Yeah, Rufus, I know. I'll let you know what we find." He hung up the phone and said, "Ornery old bastard."

"What's happening?" Castiel asked.

"Something popped open the Devil's Gate in Wyoming last night." Bobby said.

Sam stared at him a moment and then walked into the hall. Dean followed him, his heart sinking as he realized where Sam was going. He pulled open the closet door, and they both saw the safe with its door ripped off at the hinges. The devil's trap that was etched into the steel door had been broken by a deep scratch. It was empty of all but a few of Bobby's more precious books and some paperwork. The antique gun that had been there was missing.

"Well, we know what was taken," Sam said bitterly.

Dean cursed. "Why didn't we look?"

"I don't know," Sam said stiffly. "Why didn't you?" He walked back into the library and said. "The Colt is gone."

Bobby nodded slowly. "Figured. Dammit!"

"Who do you think it was?" Castiel asked.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I can think of only one demon that's got something to gain out of swelling his ranks, can't you?"

"Crowley," Dean spat.

Sam went back to the table where he had been setting up the summoning spell. He quickly lit the candles and tipped the ingredients into the bowl, then cut across his palm with his switchblade and dripped the blood into the bowl. He threw in a lit match and the flames licked up.

" _Et ad congregandum… Eos coram me."_

Crowley appeared with a suitably harried look on his face.

"Crowley," Sam growled.

"You've heard then?" Crowley said. "Good. Saves me having to slow the explanation for the kids in the back." He jerked his head at Castiel.

"What did you do?" Sam asked darkly.

"Me? Nothing! In case you're forgetting, I was with you and Squirrel last night."

"For all of five minutes," Sam said. "We have no idea what you were doing before or after."

Crowley grunted a laugh. "Yeah, I thought it would be fun to go up against _myself_ with an army. That sounds bloody hilarious. No, you idiots, it wasn't me. This is something that was done _to_ me. While I was providing a car service for Mr. Concussion over there and saving the guards from being pounded into meat by you, Sam, someone was working to depose me." He pulled out a hipflask from his pocket and drank a swig. "That's the stuff."

"Who is trying to depose you?" Dean asked doubtfully.

Crowley sighed. "It seems my leadership style isn't to everyone's taste. There's been rumbles for a while, but as I was Lucifer's appointed, they didn't strike. Since Satan got locked up tight, they've been plotting against me. It's someone called Ambrose. Damn stupid name if you ask me. Anyway, he's been turning my people against me on the quiet and yesterday he decided to take a shortcut and cracked open Hell. Now it's me against the pitiful number that escaped Metatron _and_ the backstabbing bastards that are after the throne. They're coming for me, and I'll be lucky to last a week."

"I don't believe you," Bobby said stolidly.

Crowley clapped a hand to his chest. "That hurts, you know. I've been good to you all."

"You've been good to yourself," Castiel said.

"You know what, if I want to hear from the baby human, I'll ask. Let the grown-ups talk, Castiel."

Castiel glowered at him but didn't speak.

"Why should we trust you?" Dean asked.

"Don't," Crowley said. "I don't trust you either. Moose threated to stab me last night after all."

Castiel's eyes darted to Sam and Sam looked blankly back at him. "Problem?"

Castiel shook his head despairingly.

"Trust me or not, the fact is there's hundreds of demons topside now, coming for me, so we have to act quick if we're going to save me."

"Because that's our biggest concern," Dean said sarcastically.

"It should be. I'm the only one that has a chance of tracking down Metatron. Without me, you're pretty much screwed, so you're going to need to work with me. I've come through for you with the Mark and Blade and I will find Metatron, but you have to quit with the bitching and make sure Moose doesn't come at me with that nifty Blade next time he gets a little hormonal."

"You just said you're our best chance at getting Metatron, so why exactly would Sam come after you if you've done nothing wrong?" Bobby asked.

"You missed the hormonal part then," Crowley said with a roll of his eyes. "He's not Mr. Emotional Health right now, it he?"

Dean frowned at him. Sure, Sam hadn't exactly been his best self right lately, but he seemed to be doing better now. He was talking more, saving Dean's life even. And, okay, he was pissed about the colt, but he wasn't raging out at them or downstairs pummeling the punchbag as he had been for weeks. He was doing good.

"You'll be fine," Sam said stiffly. "Bring me Metatron and there will be no need for me to hurt you."

"That's reassuring," Crowley said. "I'm off. Do me a favor—if you see any murderous demons asking about me, stab them and let me know in that order. I'll get back to finding Metatron, and I'll let you know when I have the little squit. Okay? Good."

He disappeared without a sound and Sam sighed as one of Bobby's many phones started ringing.

"You better answer them," he said idly. He went to the counter and picked up the box containing the First Blade. "I'm going to work out a while."

Dean listened to his heavy footfalls on the wooden steps to the basement and he nodded. He was working out again, but he was still talking. He _was_ doing better.

* * *

 **So… The colt is gone, the gate is open, and Crowley's saying he's about to be deposed. So much bad news for the Winchesters.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	13. Chapter 12

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredelina1 for helping and supporting. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twelve**_

The bar reminded Sam of Harvelle's Roadhouse. It was in the middle of a sparsely populated road on the edge of town. It was dimly lit and crowded, but Sam could see through the gloom to the two men at the pool table. The jukebox played in a corner, but it was still possible to hear the thunder rolling overhead outside. Occasional flashes of lightning lit the windows but didn't penetrate far inside.

He had followed the storm to Minnesota on a hunch, and it had paid off. He was sure the two men playing pool were who he needed. They seemed to be paying as much attention to him as they were to the game, their gazes open though his was surreptitious. They knew him for who he was, as he knew them for what they were.

He sipped his beer slowly and his hand reached unerringly for the duffel at his side. He felt a tingle on his right forearm and nodded to himself. It was almost time.

A woman sauntered over to the pool table and he considered a moment. Were there three of them? She tried to engage them in conversation, and the taller of the two seemed willing to enjoy her company, but the smaller said something and his shoulders slumped as he shook her off. She made her dispirited way back to the bar where her friends waited, and they handed her a drink and spoke words Sam thought were consoling. She shrugged and smiled, and her friends laughed.

Sam faced the other corner of the room to them, but his eyes were directed to the two men. He wanted to strike now, to attack, but to do so in a room full of witnesses would be insanity. He had to wait for them to make the move.

The woman that had been rejected before seemed to notice him now. She looked hopeful as she spoke to a friend and then began to make her way over to his table. He stared into her eyes and shook his head pointedly. Her face fell and she quickly redirected her steps towards the door that led to the restrooms.

He waited another thirty minutes and drank one more beer before the men set down their cues and walked towards the door. Sam quickly picked up the duffel and followed them out into the stormy night. They were walking along the parking lot to a new model SUV. Sam supposed they'd stolen it at the same time they'd stolen the bodies they were riding. The car seemed to fit the faces they'd taken.

"Hey," he called after them. "Do either of you have the time?"

They both stopped and exchanged a smug look before turning to face him. "The time?" the taller asked. "We've got the time to kill you, Winchester, if that's what you mean."

They both smiled smugly and their eyes became uniform black, confirming what he had been sure of all along.

"That wasn't what I meant," Sam said. "But, hell, if you're in the mood for a fight, I'll deliver."

The smaller one laughed. "I heard you had a high opinion of yourself, but I didn't realize you were quite so deluded."

"You're forgetting, Winchester, your boyfriend isn't around anymore," the other said. "He's not going to be able to swoop in and save you. Your brother isn't even here to back you up."

"That would be a problem if I needed backup," Sam said idly. "But I'm pretty sure I can handle the two of you."

"You think so?" the shorter asked as the other snorted.

"I know so." Sam reached into the bag and pulled out the Blade, letting the duffel drop to the floor. "Know what this is?" he asked.

"Homemade?" the taller asked.

"You could say that, yeah. Cain made it."

They both looked shocked and then a little scared.

"You've heard of him?" Sam asked with a smile. "Good to hear. So, you know what this Blade will do."

"We know what you'll _try_ to do with it," the smaller said. "But since there's two of us and one of you, I like our odds. When you're dead, we'll take that nice weapon and have a little fun with it. Starting with your brother."

"You could try," Sam said. "Unfortunately, you need more than to possess the Blade to make it work properly. You need this." He pulled back his sleeve and exposed the Mark on his arm. "And I'm not giving it up." He shook down his sleeve and said, "So, who's first?"

The taller tried for an amused expression but failed. Sam stepped forward and the demon took a step backwards.

"Wanna hear a secret?" Sam asked, leaning forward as if he was going to whisper to it. The demon seemed frozen in place. Sam thrust out with the blade and impaled the demon on it. As he twisted the blade and withdrew it, the body fell heavily to the ground.

The remaining demon stared down at its fallen fellow, with the gaping wound in its chest, and turned to run. Sam sliced the blade through the air, but he merely broke the skin of the demon's back as it disappeared into thin air.

"Damn," he said, disappointed. He had been hoping for another kill.

He tucked the bloodied blade under his arm and bent to pick up the dead demon's foot. Dragging it by its ankle, he deposited it into a ditch and threw over some loose weeds that were growing nearby. It would be found soon, either by someone taking a leak in the bushes or because of the smell, but Sam would be long gone. He rubbed at the Mark absentmindedly as the rain that had been threatening with the storm arrived. He held out the Blade to allow the rain to clean off the blood, and then walked through the rapidly forming puddles back to his car. He put the Blade onto the seat beside him and started the engine. As he pulled out of the spot, he thought over his night's work.

It had been two weeks since he had retrieved the Blade, and tonight had been his twelfth kill with it. He had known when he took possession of the Blade that it was more than the Mark needed to make it work, it was practice, a relationship between the two. In a very real way, the Blade was a living thing. It held the power of the very first murder, and it fed on that blood. Sam needed to prove himself to it, and murder was the only way. He felt more connected to it than ever now.

It had been pure chance that he'd discovered it. He had thought it was his the moment he touched it, but when he happened across the first demon on his way back to the motel one night, one who had some grudge to settle for a previous exorcism—Sam wasn't really paying attention as it complained—he had killed in self-defense. The Blade had reacted the way it did when he first touched it, telling him what he had to do. From there he had searched them out and learned to sense them. Most demons had a reaction to seeing Sam, partly because of Lucifer and partly because of Winchester legacy, and that combined with his new sense for them, made it easy. He followed the signs, found a likely looking place for them to be blowing off steam after their Hell tour, and waited for the right moment to strike.

He was gaining the control he needed and Metatron was going to reap the bloody rewards of it.

The only problem of possessing the Blade the way he did was that he wanted it close. He was constantly worried it would be lost or taken. He kept it with him at all times unless he was at Bobby's. He would have taken it there, too, but he didn't want to deal with Castiel's shit, or to have him infecting Dean with his paranoia.

The former angel was enough of a pain in the ass already.

* * *

Dean knew that they had all noticed that Sam was spending less time with them at Bobby's, and that when they did see him, he seemed tired. There were improvements though. He still worked out in the basement, but it wasn't interspersed with so much muttered Enochian now. It was as if he was more concentrated on building his strength than working out his frustrations.

Dean sometimes went down to him with bottles of water and protein bars, and Sam would stop and talk a while. It was always obvious when he had reached his limit of conversation, because his eyes would drift back to the punchbag and his responses became vague. Dean would always leave him when that happened, not wanting to push him and ruin what he had regained.

He was sure that Sam was doing better now that he knew they were close to getting Lucifer back. Dean couldn't wait for that moment. He knew everything would be better when he was there. He had a vague idea of how Sam felt at the promise of his return, as Dean remembered how it felt when he heard Michael was dead so Sam and Lucifer could come back from the Cage—that absolute joy and relief that they were going to be together again. No wonder Sam was doing better.

They just needed Metatron now, which was a little complicated by the fact Crowley hadn't yet found him. The angel seemed to be moving around a lot, making it hard for Crowley to get a lock on him. Also, the demon was having to watch his own back from the demons that were against him.

On any other day, Dean would be cheering on whoever thought taking Crowley down was a good idea, but as they needed him for Metatron, he was less than pleased. Bobby had also pointed out that while Crowley might be a treacherous bastard that they couldn't trust further than they could throw, he was at least the devil they knew. Who knew what a new one would be capable of?

Sam was there now, though, and Dean had just spent a happy five minutes talking with him. When it became obvious Sam wanted to be alone again, Dean left him to it and went up the stairs. He heard Castiel and Bobby's voices before he got into the library, and noticed that they sounded stressed.

"What's up?" he asked as he entered.

"Metatron," Bobby said darkly.

"You've found him?" Dean asked hopefully.

"No," Castiel said dourly.

Bobby turned the laptop he was looking at and Dean peered at the screen. There was a picture of two men with their arms around each other and the headline: _Missing Man Found Murdered._

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"Andrew and Daniel Barker, married couple from Boston, went missing a couple weeks ago. They didn't show up for work, didn't call any of their family, just disappeared overnight taking nothing but their car. Only thing strange about the scene was a report in the missing persons mentioning a strange storm that night in their area. There was no previous indication of bad weather. Just one of those freak things."

"Demonic?" Dean asked.

"That what we're thinking," Bobby said. "Here's where it gets worrying. Andrew was found out by a roadhouse joint in Nebraska last night, stabbed to death, and Daniel is still missing. The cops are toying with the idea that it was Daniel that murdered him, but the family say there's no way—they were devoted to each other."

"You think Metatron?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Castiel said. "He must be angry that there is a sudden influx of demons after he killed so many of them. He will be working harder than ever to correct the balance."

"Dammit." Dean went back into the hall and shouted down into the basement. "Sammy, you need to see this."

The sounds of fists against leather cut off and Sam came up the stairs. "What's happened?"

"Metatron's active again," Dean said.

"Where?" he asked intensely, rushing into the library.

"He was in Nebraska," Bobby said. "But that was a couple days ago."

Sam's eyes fell on the laptop and a flicker of surprise crossed his face. It passed so quickly that Dean wasn't sure if he had imagined it. "Metatron killed them?" he asked in a neutral voice.

"We think one of them at least. The other's still missing. And we're pretty sure they were possessed."

Sam nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay?" Castiel asked. "There is a man dead, possibly two, and you say it's okay?"

Sam turned his empty stare on him and said, "Yes. He's killing demons again. That means he's not gunning for the humans yet. That's good. I'll be able to stop him before he does."

"And the humans the demons are possessing?" Castiel asked. "Do they not count?"

"They're collateral damage," Sam said.

Castiel looked shocked.

"What do you want from me, Castiel?" he asked. "Until we find Metatron, I can't stop these killings." He glanced at his watch. "I'm going home. See you tomorrow."

"Sam, wait," Dean said.

"For what?" Sam asked. "What do you need from me?"

"Stay," Dean said. "Eat with us. Just be here a while."

Sam fixed his eyes on Castiel as he answered. "I don't think I'm in the mood for company. I'll be back in the morning." He strode out of the house and after a moment Dean heard an engine sputter to life.

Dean rounded on Castiel. "Nice, Cas, just when he was starting to talk again."

Castiel stared defiantly back at him. "Yes, he was starting to talk, but did you hear what he was saying?"

"He had a point," Dean said. "If Metatron is occupied with the demons, he's leaving other people alone. We've killed countless demons with Ruby's knife, and that meant killing a person, too. Hell, when Sam was gone, I went off the rails a little, too. Sam's not killing people."

"But he doesn't even care that Metatron is," Castiel said.

"He cares, he just knows he can't do anything about it. None of us can until we find Metatron. When we have him, when Sam gets the truth out of him and then kills him, we'll stop the killing. You being on his ass all the time isn't helping. What's your problem?"

"My problem is that you seem blind to what is happening here. Sam is changing. Why can't you see it."

"I _see_ my brother hurting. I see him fighting. I see him doing what he can to get his lover back. What's so wrong with that?"

Castiel sighed. "Do you really think he cares, or is that just what you're telling yourself to keep going?"

"Yes, he cares," Dean said doggedly, turning to his friend. "Bobby?"

Bobby looked solemn. "I don't know, Dean. I don't know whether we're seeing what's there or what we want to be there."

Dean shook his head. He knew his brother better than anyone there. Sam cared. He just wasn't showing it. He had other things on his mind. Like Lucifer.

* * *

 **So… Sam is killing demons. Nothing bad in that at all, right? He's just having bonding time with the blade.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	14. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and all the little extras you do. Thank you Gredelina1 for all your help. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirteen**_

Bobby was a little concerned.

Despite the fact he'd said he'd return, Sam didn't arrive the next morning, or even that afternoon. Bobby had noticed that Sam had been spending less and less time with them lately, and he'd been almost expecting him to skip a whole day for a while, but Dean was worried. He spent the morning in the basement, taking Sam's place at the punchbag, but by afternoon that ceased to distract him. By evening he was standing beside Bobby at the counter, staring out the window as Bobby prepared their dinner.

Strangely, Castiel seemed concerned, too. Bobby thought he would have enjoyed the break from Sam and the tension he was obviously feeling when he was there. Things between the two of them were strained all the time. Castiel seemed determined to watch Sam for any signs of something being wrong, and Sam was more than aware of and pissed at the attention. Bobby understood both sides. Sam was doing things that worried him, like taking the Mark, but he also knew Sam. He was hurting without Lucifer, and that was causing him to shut down, but he wasn't becoming what Castiel seemed so scared of.

Dean turned away from the window and picked his phone up from the table. Sam hadn't answered the last ten times they'd called, but Bobby supposed there was no harm in trying again.

In a perfect world, Sam wouldn't be there because he was catching up on the sleep he'd so obviously been missing for the past couple weeks. It wasn't a perfect world though, it never was for them, which probably meant Sam was somewhere drowning his sorrows in private.

"Sam, call me when you get this. I'm worried," Dean said, then set the phone down again.

Bobby took three bowls from the cupboard and divided the pan of stew among them. "Come eat," he said.

Castiel came to the counter and piled a plate with bread as Bobby put the bowls down at each setting. Castiel took his place beside Bobby and they both waited pointedly for Dean to sit.

"I think I'll go check on him," Dean said.

"He's fine, Dean," Bobby said.

Dean scowled. "You know that for a fact, do you?"

Bobby swallowed down his annoyance, understanding that Dean was worried and it wasn't his fault he was acting like a moody teen.

"Eat and then we'll all go," he said.

Dean sighed heavily and sank into his seat. He picked up his spoon and began to probe at his stew with a disgruntled expression. Knowing Dean was going to eat even less if he was being watched, Bobby concentrated on his own food.

They ate quietly for a while and then Dean's phone crackled to life. He snatched it up, but it wasn't ringing. It was an alert coming through on the police scanner app he had. Bobby didn't pay it any attention until a tensed voice spoke and Dean gasped.

" _We have a Code 10-45D on Jefferson Street. Requesting back-up. We need…"_

Bobby didn't hear the rest of the words as Dean was lurching to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor.

Bobby got to his feet, too, and grabbed his jacket from the hook. "Dean…" He wasn't sure what else to say.

"What?" Castiel asked. "What does it mean?"

"They've got a body," Bobby said and swallowed hard down the nausea. "Near Sam's motel."

Dean was already halfway out of the door.

Castiel got to his feet, too. "We have no reason to believe it's Sam," he said reasonably.

Dean ignored him and raced outside, pounding down the steps to the Impala.

"No we don't," Bobby agreed. "But experience with these boys has taught me one thing—if there's a crisis in the area, they're usually involved."

He rushed out of the house and threw himself into the car, Castiel coming hot on his heels. Before the doors were even closed, Dean had the wheels skidding as he drove away from the house.

He handed Bobby the phone and snapped, "Call him!"

Bobby dialed and listened as it rang through to voicemail. "Sam, call us. It's important."

He lowered the phone and said into the tense air, "He could be sleeping."

Dean shook his head. "Call again!"

The one positive Bobby could think of as he dialed again and again was the fact _no one_ answered. No cop or EMT at the scene had stopped the annoying ringing.

"Slow it down a little," Bobby said as they reached the street where the motel was.

"What?" Dean barked.

"It's going to be crawling with cops," Bobby said. "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves. Slow it down."

Dean allowed the speed to drop a little, but Bobby could see it was causing him even more stress.

The revolving bulbs of cop cars lit the street a couple stores away from the motel. Bobby saw Jody Mills and her deputy standing beside the body sprawled on the ground.

"It's not Sam," Castiel said, peering out of his window. "It's a woman."

Bobby didn't realize how scared he was until he heard Castiel confirm what he had seen. His quick glimpse told him that the body was smaller than Sam and long blonde hair fanned around her head.

"You sure?" Dean asked.

"Certain," Castiel said.

"Pull around back," Bobby said.

Dean looked tense as he pulled around back and parked in front of Sam's room. The Chevelle was there, but the windows of the room were dark.

"Sleeping," Castiel said, satisfied.

Bobby wasn't so sure.

They climbed out of the car and Dean rushed to the door. He knocked hard twice, but there was no sound of movement inside.

Dean pulled his lock pick out of his pocket and bent to the door. He cursed as he worked it, breathing out a soft sigh when the lock clicked. He straightened and opened the door and peered inside, seeming calmer now. "Sammy?"

They walked into the dark room. Bobby heard the shower running, and felt relief as he understood why Sam wasn't opening the door or answering his phone. There was a click and light flooded the room as Castiel flipped the switch. Bobby's heart seemed to fill his throat. In front of them was a blood-spattered boot, a little further was another, and just outside the bathroom door was a blood-soaked shirt. On the bed was the bloodied First Blade.

"Shit," he breathed.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was a panicked bellow. He kicked at the bathroom door and it flew open. Bobby rushed after him into the small room. Sam was at least upright. He was standing in the tub, half under the flow of water from the overhead shower. The water pooled around his bare feet was tainted red where the blood was streaking down from his bare chest to the waistband of his soaked jeans. His forehead was pressed against the white tile. Though his hair was out of the flow of water, it was damp with thick liquid that dripped red down his shoulders. His face was smeared with blood, too. Bobby took it all in within the moment he entered the room, and then he grabbed a towel from the hook by the basin and rushed forward.

Dean had Sam by the shoulders and was pulling him back from the flow of water, his brother's name on his lips. "Sam! Sammy! Jesus, where's all this blood coming from?"

Bobby scanned him but could see no wound that would be causing so much bleeding. He thought perhaps it was concealed by his hair. "It's okay, Son," he said. "We're here now. Where are you hurt?"

"Not hurt," Sam said dully.

"You might not be feeling it, but you are," Dean said. "Where did they get you?"

Sam allowed Dean to manipulate him so he was sitting on the edge of the bath. Bobby rushed forward and ran his hands over Sam's head, his fingers tangling in his wet and snarled hair.

Sam bore it for a second and then pulled back. "I'm not hurt."

"Sammy, you really are," Dean said in a worried voice.

"It's not my blood," he said in a dead voice.

Bobby took an automatic step back. "What did you do?"

Sam smiled wryly at his reaction. "I killed a someone."

"The woman down the street?" Dean guessed, his tone inflectionless.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"What the hell happened?" Bobby asked.

"She was a demon that came after me," Sam said. "I guess she was pissed because I keep killing her friends."

It all clicked into place in Bobby's mind. The way the demons were all found in the states around Sioux Falls, within a day's drive; the way Sam was coming to them at odd times, exhausted. "It hasn't been Metatron killing the demons," he said. "It's you."

"Yeah."

Dean frowned. "You've been hunting the demons?"

"I had to," Sam said.

"Why?" Dean asked plaintively.

"The Blade needed it. It's what I have to do."

Bobby's mind reeled back through the years to a dark day in which Sam howled with pain from the panic room while he and Dean got drunk in the library. They had been stepping in to save Sam from himself when he had become addicted to the evil of demon blood. Dean had been convinced that it was the only way to save Sam from going darkside on them. He had almost been right. Sam had gotten free and killed Lilith, kickstarting the apocalypse. They hadn't lost him—that had come later—but Sam had been changed by it. It had been Lucifer that had cured that darkness in him—at least that was what they thought. It seemed the darkness was rearing its head again now, and there was no Lucifer to bring him back.

"Clean yourself up," he said gruffly. "The cops are all over the place. If they come here, you need to be ready and thinking fast."

Sam nodded and stood again.

Bobby tugged on Dean's arm and the younger man allowed himself to be led out into the bedroom again. He fetched Sam clean clothes and carried them to the bathroom. When he came out, he was pale and shocky looking. Bobby directed him to the chair and Dean obeyed without a word.

Bobby closed the bathroom door and said, "Okay, we need to talk."

* * *

Dean's head was pounding and he felt sick. The adrenaline of seeing his brother covered in blood, believing that he was mortally wounded, was still rushing through him, making his shirt stick to him with sweat. He ran a hand over his face and wasn't surprised that it was shaking.

"You hear what happened in there?" Bobby asked Castiel.

"Yes," Castiel said solemnly. "He has been killing."

Bobby nodded.

Castiel closed his eyes and his expression was strained. "We need to act now."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "We have to help him."

"That's not what I meant," Castiel said. "We need to act to help the world."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think you understand the direness of this situation,"

"Explain it to me then," Dean said.

"Do you remember Lilith?"

Dean glared at him. "Do I remember the bitch that summoned the hounds to kill me and drag my soul to Hell? Yeah, that's not the kind of thing you just forget, Cas. I remember every second of it. The seals breaking? I remember your dick brothers letting it happen, wanting it to happen so they could have their prize fight. I remember…"

"You remember Sam killing Lilith and starting the apocalypse," Castiel interjected.

Dean glowered at him. Did he seriously believe that was something that would be forgotten? He knew what Sam had done, just as Sam did. He also knew that the world had been saved by his brother. He had gone to Lucifer when he was still the enemy to save Dean, and he had shown Lucifer there were things to value in humanity. He had loved Lucifer and the angel loved him in return. Because of what Sam had done and risked, the apocalypse had been averted.

"Yes," he said darkly. "You got a point or are you just piling on the guilt for all the shit we've done?"

"My point is Lilith," Castiel said. "Other than Lucifer, she was the most dangerous opponent you've ever faced. She was powerful and cruel. Now, imagine her with a vendetta and an age-old weapon."

"You're saying Sam is a demon?" Bobby asked, sounding stunned.

"No. I am saying that he is as dangerous as one though."

Dean's hands fisted. "Sam isn't dangerous!"

"He is," Castiel argued. "Really, Dean, didn't you see enough in that bathroom to know that, too?"

"No. I didn't." He looked at Bobby, expecting to see support there, but Bobby looked thoughtful. "What the hell?" he said angrily.

"Can he do it?" Bobby asked. "Get the information from Metatron, I mean. Will he be able to get Lucifer back and kill that dick angel?"

"I have no doubt he will get the information we need from him," Castiel said. "And he will kill him for his crimes. I do not know whether he would be able to stop there though."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked.

"You heard what he said: The Blade needed it. The Mark feeds on murder and Sam has been gorging it and the Blade on blood. Think of all the bodies that have been found. Each kill has strengthened the bond between it and Sam. They are even more tangled now than ever before."

"He's been killing demons though," Dean said. "Not people."

"Do not forget the people they were possessing," Castiel said. "They died, too."

"We've already talked about this. I've also killed meat suits by killing a demon. Does that mean I am evil?"

"I never said he was evil," Castiel said. "Sam is my friend. He's my family, too."

"Doesn't sound like it lately," Dean snapped. "You've been on his ass for weeks. Family doesn't do that."

"Nor do they ignore the truth being bellowed at them. You can see how far Sam has fallen as well as I can. You just don't want to accept it. The fact is that Sam is under the influence of the Mark and the Blade. He is killing demons now. What will happen when that's no longer enough?"

Dean lurched to his feet and advanced on him. "Sam is not a murderer."

"Yet," Castiel said, holding his place. "I don't want to say this any more than you want to hear it, but we need a contingency plan in place."

"Contingency?" Bobby said, sounding stunned. "Are you talking about killing Sam?"

"I don't want to," Castiel said. "This hurts me as much as it hurts you both. I love Sam, too. But we have to decide which is the greater evil: letting Sam live, allowing him to be changed even more, or letting him go."

Dean turned away, knowing if he continued to look at Castiel he would punch him. That he would dare to say these things about Sam, as if it was really an option, made him furious. Castiel was supposed to be Sam's family, and he said he loved him, but here he was, talking about putting him down like a dog. Sam was Dean's brother. There would never be an evil in him great enough for Dean to allow that to happen.

"I know this is hard for you, Dean…" he started.

Dean rounded on him. "Hard? It's not hard; it's impossible! And it's never going to happen. I will kill you before I let you touch him. Understand?"

"Dean!" Bobby scolded.

"No! Sam is my brother and I will kill _anyone_ that tries to hurt him."

"He won't be your brother though," Castiel said sadly. "He will be something you will need to hunt."

Dean remembered a conversation long ago he'd had with Castiel. _'He would become the next creature that you would feel compelled to kill.'_

"I've heard that before, Cas," he said darkly. "And it was bullshit then, too."

Castiel opened his mouth to speak and Dean advanced on him, his hands fisted at his sides. Bobby quickly stepped between them.

"Okay, calm down," he said.

"Do you hear what he's saying?" Dean asked. "He wants to kill Sam!"

"I don't _want_ to, I just…"

"I swear to God, Cas, you better shut your mouth!" Dean growled.

"We're not killing Sam," Bobby said. "But Cas has at least one point. Sam is changing. He's stronger now, more than can be explained by all the workouts he's doing. He _is_ darker. I know he's hurting without Lucifer, but it can't all be explained away as that. This Mark is changing him. He's killing. They're demons, I know, but it's still killing. And he was hiding it from us."

"He didn't want to deal with _his_ crap," Dean spat, glaring at Castiel around Bobby's shoulder.

Bobby shook his head. "It's more than that, and you know it. We need to do something."

"You want to kill him!" Dean accused.

"No!" Bobby said. "Never in life. He's my boy. I want to help him."

Dean snorted. "What are you thinking? We should lock him in the panic room again maybe? That went so well last time. He managed to bust his way out."

Castiel looked as if he was going to speak, but he snapped his mouth shut again.

"I don't know," Bobby said. "We have to do something."

"We need to take away the Blade," Castiel said, his eyes falling on the bloodied weapon on the bed. "He can't be allowed to wield it anymore."

The bathroom door was flung open and Sam was revealed on the threshold. He was dressed in the clean jeans Dean had brought him, but his chest was still bare and his hair wet. He looked furious, almost murderous. Dean hadn't even noticed the shower shutting off over the sound of their argument.

"You think you can take it away?" Sam snarled, his lips curling back like an animal. "You think I would actually let you do that?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "I think you will because you see what this is doing to you."

Sam strode forward, shoving Bobby aside as he tried to step between them, and grabbed Castiel around the throat. He slammed him into the wall and put his arm across Castiel's chest, pinning him in place. "It is doing nothing to me!" he growled. "I am killing demons, that's all! I'm not a murderer or whatever other label you're trying to pin on me to make yourself feel big again."

"Sam!" Castiel rasped, his breath constricted by the pressure against his chest.

"You were a mighty angel of the Lord, and now you're a pathetic human. You're less even than the rest of us, because you have no idea what you are anymore. That's got to be a real downer."

Castiel shook his head, seemingly unable to find the air to talk.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm and tried to wrench it back. He managed to move it enough for Castiel to grab a lungful of air, but he couldn't pull him off completely. Even when Bobby joined him, they couldn't get him back far enough to release Castiel.

"You think you can kill me?" Sam asked. "You don't stand a chance. Dean won't need to be a part of it if you try, because I will shove that Blade into you so deep that what the Leviathan did to you will feel like a massage."

Dean knew he had to act before Sam really hurt him, so he stepped around so he was facing Sam, still trying to hold him away from Castiel. "No one is going to hurt you, Sam. He was just running his mouth. He didn't mean it."

"He meant it," Sam growled. "He is deluded though. I am not giving up that Blade for anything."

"Look at yourself," Castiel said quietly. "Look what you have become."

Sam pushed forward, elbowing Dean out of the way and cutting off Castiel's air again. "I have become nothing!"

"Sam," Dean begged. "Let him go."

"Look at yourself!" Bobby barked. "You're going to kill him if you don't stop. Is this the man Lucifer loves? What would he think if he could see you? Just what kind of man is it he's coming back to?"

Dean saw the exact moment the words penetrated Sam, as his face slackened and the force with which he was pinning Castiel fell away. Castiel skidded along the wall away from him and massaged his chest, drawing heaving breaths.

Sam turned away and faced the wall. Dean hurried to his side, leaving Bobby to take care of Castiel, and laid a hand on Sam's chest. He felt Sam's shallow breaths and racing heart against his palm.

"Take it easy. Everyone is okay."

"Lucifer," Sam said mournfully.

"It's okay," Dean said quickly. "Lucifer will be fine, too."

Sam looked at him as if he was staring right through him.

"Sam?" he said, worried.

Sam drew a breath and raked a hand over his face and through his damp hair. Dean could see the fear in his eyes, and knew it was for Lucifer. Sam was terrified at the idea that he had lost Lucifer. Bobby had said the only thing that had a chance of reaching him, and it had worked.

Dean told himself Sam wouldn't have really killed Castiel, but he couldn't convince himself totally. It seemed Castiel had been right in part. Not that Sam should die, that would never be true, but that he was changed.

"What do I do?" Sam asked, now staring into Dean's eyes with desperation.

Dean knew it was his chance to save his brother, and he forced his voice to be steady and firm as he said, "Give up the Blade. At least until we find Metatron."

A flicker of anger crossed Sam's face, but he quickly smoothed it away. "Okay."

"And come home," Bobby said behind him.

"I am home," Sam said. "This is _our_ home."

"It's not," Dean said gently. "It's not Lucifer's. _You_ are his home. Wherever you are, he's happy. You can't stay here alone anymore. Come back with us so we can help you."

Sam looked torn as his eyes roved the room, seeing their combined belongings spread around: the photographs of them both tacked to the wall, a painting of a sunset over the ocean on a white sandy beach, Lucifer's shirt on the bed—had Sam slept better with it close to him?

"Please, Sam," he said.

Sam nodded. "Okay."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "Bobby, you and Cas go back. Me and Sam will bring what he needs and follow you." He looked pointedly at the Blade on the bed.

Bobby reached out a tentative hand and lifted the Blade. "You sure about this, Sam?" he asked, seemingly wary of triggering Sam's anger.

"Take it away," Sam said tonelessly.

Bobby put it in an empty duffel that was on the table and walked to the door. "C'mon, Cas."

Castiel cast Sam a wary look and then followed Bobby out of the room. The door clicked closed behind him and Sam let out a deep breath and pulled his duffel out from under the bed. He packed Lucifer's shirt first and then began to gather the other belongings dotted around.

"You're doing the right thing, Sammy," Dean said. "It's going to be okay."

"Castiel doesn't think so," Sam said.

"He's just scared for you. He cares."

"No," Sam said, a bite of anger in his voice. "He doesn't care. He's not scared for me. He's scared _of_ me. It's different."

"He's family," Dean said, as if that was the ultimate cure-all for their argument and Sam's attack.

Sam paused with a hoodie in his hands and looked at Dean. "No, he's not. You and Lucifer, Bobby, you're family. Castiel is nothing to me."

Dean sucked in a breath. Sam couldn't have shocked him more if he'd announced he was leaving Lucifer. They _were_ family. They had been for years. But there was no question in Sam's mind. Castiel wasn't. He had gone too far in Sam's eyes, and what they'd shared before was ruined.

Dean hoped Castiel never knew.

* * *

 **So… That was a tough scene to write. Sam is just starting to tap into his darker side now. There's more to come.**

 **Thoughts on Castiel anyone? Is he the one thinking clearly or is he just being a dick?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	15. Chapter 14

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and always being on hand for my random and sometimes silly questions. Thank you also Gredelina1 for supporting and encouraging.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Fourteen**_

The first few days of Sam being back at the house were better. Dean could relax a little knowing Sam was with them, safe.

They were less comfortable for Castiel, as Sam didn't register his presence at any time. When they ate, Sam stared at his food and didn't speak. When Castiel addressed him directly, Sam stared right through him as if he wasn't there. One time, Castiel had gone, against Bobby and Dean's advice, to the basement when Sam was working out to talk to him. Dean didn't know what had been said down there, but Castiel had come back after only a minute and his expression had been devastated. After that, he stopped trying to engage Sam and just spoke to Dean and Bobby.

Castiel left the bedroom he'd been sharing with Dean while Sam was gone and moved into the small box-room Bobby stored old furniture in. There was a small bed against the wall, only accessible by squeezing through old tables and boxes, but Castiel seemed happier in there.

Dean felt a little bad for him, but he remembered how quickly Castiel's mind had gone to murder when there had to be other solutions. For all Castiel had done for them, Dean didn't think he would ever truly be able to forgive that.

The solution they had was working. Sam didn't know where they were storing the Blade, and he didn't ask about it. He wasn't hunting demons anymore. He was doing well.

At least Dean thought he was until he woke in the early hours of the morning on the fourth day and found Sam wasn't in the bed beside his. He quickly climbed out of bed and stuffed his feet into his boots. He crept down the hall, passing Bobby's door and hearing his snores, then down the stairs.

Castiel was in the library, sitting on the couch with a book in his hands. He looked up as Dean entered and said, "Sam's gone out."

Dean's heart sank. "You didn't stop him?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. "Sam has made it clear he wants me to have no involvement in his life anymore, and I had no desire to get pinned to the wall again by trying to stop him. I didn't hear a car though, and the Blade is still in place. He's probably just gone out walking. He has a lot of issues to walk out."

"He's not the only one," Dean said bitterly.

Despite the fact Sam was unarmed and hadn't gone any further than he could walk, Dean was worried. The demon he'd killed at the motel had been coming for him. What if there were more? He opened the door and sighed with relief when he saw Sam sitting on the porch steps, staring blankly out at the junked cars.

"Hey," he said, closing the door behind him and taking a seat beside his brother.

"Hey," Sam said quietly.

"You okay?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "Not really."

"Thinking of Lucifer?"

"For once, no," Sam said. "I'm thinking of me." He raised his hand in front of him and Dean saw it was jerking with tremors.

"How long's that been happening, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. "Pretty much since the morning I came back here. I was able to control it before, but now…" His brow creased and he focused his attention on his hand. The shaking lessened but it was still apparent. "I can't stop it," he said apologetically.

"Are you sick?"

"In a way." He lowered his hand and tucked it into his lap again.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because I didn't want to see Castiel's satisfaction."

"It's not like that, Sam," he said. "Cas is just…"

"I know exactly what he is," Sam said. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"But if you're sick, you need help. What else is wrong?"

"Feels like flu. I ache, I'm nauseous, and I feel weak."

"You need rest," Dean said decisively. "Do you want to see a doctor?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You've told me to work off a broken bone before, but now you want me to see a doctor? Who are you and what have you done to my brother?"

"Don't change the subject," Dean said. "Do you need help?"

"Yes," Sam said. "But a doctor can't give it to me."

Dean frowned. It was true Sam and Dean rarely went to a doctor, a hospital even less. They stitched their own wounds and made it through other injuries and ailments with Winchester determination, which meant they basically ignored the problem until it went away unless there was an angel there. They only got help when it was absolutely necessary. Still, Dean was worried about his brother. For him to be admitting to feeling bad and needing help meant things were much worse than he was showing.

"What help do you need then?"

Sam shook his head. "None that I can have."

Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, feeling the heat soaking through his t-shirt and noting the fact Sam pulled away with a hiss. Increased sensitivity was something he'd seen before in Sam. His heart sank.

"It's the Blade," he stated.

"Yes," Sam said darkly.

"Is it like before? When you were coming off the blood, I mean?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Maybe worse, at least worse than it was in the beginning last time. I felt like this a couple hours before it really hit before. This has been coming on a while."

"What can I do?" Dean asked.

"Nothing. Hope Crowley comes through with Metatron fast so we can get Lucifer back. He's the only one that knows the truth behind the Mark. He might be able to help me. Even if he can't, he'll be here."

Dean hoped more than almost anything that Lucifer would be able to take care of the Mark. He thought getting Lucifer back was the key to him getting his real brother back, too. The fear that it wouldn't work now was very real. Though having Lucifer would surely make a difference to Sam, he thought they had to get rid of the Mark now to really have him back.

"We can't leave you feeling like this."

Sam shrugged. "I don't see that we have a choice."

"And if it gets as bad as it did before?"

Sam turned to him and Dean saw the first signs of broken blood vessels in his eyes. "We just have to hope it doesn't."

Dean had never been good at stuff like that. He saw what could happen rather than what would, as he had long years of experience that told him it usually was the worst-case scenario for them.

"Yeah," he said bracingly. "It'll be fine."

* * *

Sam knew that it wasn't going to be fine. He could talk crap to Dean all he liked to reassure him, but he knew his body and therefore knew what was coming for him. It got gradually worse over the course of the day until he knew he was doomed again.

He had been through withdrawal twice, and they were among the worst memories he had, only eclipsed by the months he'd spent while Dean was in Hell and the time after Lucifer had gone back to the Cage before he joined him. They were the memories that had tortured his dreams when Lucifer wasn't there to hold him and drive away the nightmares.

He knew it was coming again though, and he tried to think of anything but that, succeeding in thinking of little else.

Castiel was right. The Blade had changed him. He had stood in that bathroom for a while at the motel, listening to their conversation. He had heard Castiel's opinion that he was going to need to be put down like a rabid dog, and he had heard Dean's defiant and underserved defense of him. He had earned nothing like that kind of loyalty from his brother with the way he had treated him since Lucifer had been taken, and yet Dean had spoken for him, denying what Castiel was saying. Sam would never be able to make up for that, though he would try.

The worst part was that now he could barely think of those things. Dean, Bobby, Castiel as he had once been to him, even Lucifer, were nothing in comparison to the ache in his chest, the shudders jerking his body, and the gnawing in his gut that told him all he needed to be healed was the Blade. He didn't need to kill; it didn't need blood, that was sated, he just needed to hold it. The Mark and Blade were a part of him now and refusing that was like ignoring a limb and trying to deny it was there.

It took everything he had to stop himself from tearing apart the house to find where they'd hidden it. He had to fight it though. He couldn't let himself be changed any more than he already was. Lucifer would not recognize him if he did, would not love him, and that was a fate worse than death. He needed Lucifer's love like he needed oxygen to live.

He had once told Dean he loved Lucifer because he had seen him at his very worst and didn't shy away, but that was before he had let himself become this animal, the kind of person that would murder someone that had once been family to him. Lucifer couldn't love him if he fell any further. He wouldn't be the same man.

There was the creak of a door and then footsteps on the wooden stairs that led to the basement where he was hiding.

"Sam?" Bobby called, sounding worried.

"Here," he said from his place sitting with his back to the wall, concealed by boxes in the corner. He had chosen the spot as it gave him the feeling of being cosseted and hidden from the world. He should have known someone would come find to him eventually.

Bobby plodded around to him. His face showed surprise at first at his position, but he quickly schooled it into something neutral as he walked towards him and tugged the boxes away from Sam's right side and sat down. He adjusted himself into what still looked like an uncomfortable position and tipped his head back against the wall.

"Dean's cooking," he said.

Sam huffed a laugh. "Seriously?"

"Well, he's heating some frozen lasagna and garlic bread. Fuss he's making, you'd think he was creating cordon bleu cuisine."

"Sounds like him," Sam said.

"You going to come eat something?"

Sam shook his head. "Don't think I can. I'm not feeling so good."

"Don't imagine you are," Bobby said. "Withdrawal is always tough."

Sam sighed. "Dean told you."

"He didn't tell me a thing. I have eyes though, and I know you. You're feeling vulnerable, hiding down here. You never usually show that unless you're hurting, and to be honest, I never thought I'd see it now you've got that thing on your arm, so I'm thinking it has to be that. I've seen it myself once, and I read about it another time."

Sam frowned and then he understood. Chuck had been writing the pages of what was happening to him when he was with Lucifer. He had transcribed Sam's second withdrawal ordeal for them. Though they hadn't been physically there watching him go through it either time, taking care of him the way Lucifer had, they did know how far he could fall. Only one of them, Castiel, was judging him for it though.

"So, how bad is it?" he asked.

"Pretty bad," Sam admitted.

"You want something for the pain?"

"I don't honestly think it'd help."

"I have sedatives, too, pretty powerful."

Sam shook his head. "No thanks."

"You'll tell me if you change your mind?"

"I will." Though Sam knew he would not change his mind. It wouldn't help.

"You know, I think I'm the only one here that has felt something like you're feeling now. I know how it feels to have the person you love stolen away from you."

Bobby rarely spoke of his wife Karen, and Sam was surprised to hear him allude to her now. He realized though that Bobby did understand how it felt to lose the one you loved.

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess you do."

"At least you know it wasn't your fault," Bobby said. "I don't have that comfort."

"I wonder…" Sam said thoughtfully. "You didn't know what was happening when Karen was possessed. You didn't know what to do. You were saving your own life. I let Lucifer down."

"How'd you work that out?" he asked.

Sam closed his eyes as a burst of pain wracked him. When he was sure he could speak without revealing it, he said, "I should never have dragged Lucifer out of the Cage again. When Gabriel came, he told me Dean was in trouble, that you all were, and I didn't even think about it before saying I'd come back. I didn't even know if you were all alive when I was there. It was so many years that I stopped noticing them passing. When I heard you were, how short a time it had been for you, and the danger you were in, I had to come back. That made Lucifer come back, too, though. And now he's trapped. I should have left him there. I could have come back, fixed what was happening, and then gone back to him."

"No, you couldn't," Bobby argued. "Lucifer would never have let you be parted again. He had to come with you, and you had to leave. I have loved in my life, more than I thought possible, but I have never seen anything like what Lucifer feels for you."

Sam smiled sadly. "I feel the same way. I never thought I would have anyone after Jess, I never thought I deserved it, but Lucifer has found something in me that I don't understand. I am just grateful for it."

He sucked in a shaky breath as a wave of grief swept over him. He missed Lucifer so damn much. He had been consumed with the feeling of withdrawal up to now, but Bobby made him feel Lucifer was so close that seeing him again was a need rather than a longing.

"We all see it, Sam," Bobby said. "You're a good man, despite what the Mark is doing to you."

Sam brought his knees up to his chest and hid his face as tears pricked his eyes.

Bobby patted his shoulder and said kindly, "I'll leave you to your thoughts. We're upstairs if you need us, and I'm sure we can find something your stomach can tolerate if you're hungry."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said, his voice muffled.

He heard Bobby getting to his feet and walking up the steps and out of the door. Only when he was gone did Sam let a sob escape him and the pleading words of Enochian. "Lucifer, I need you so much. I need your strength. I've got none left."

* * *

Sam deteriorated quickly. Dean went to sleep with him in the bed on the other side of the small room, pale and shaky, but he was woken in the night by Sam's cries of pain. He jolted out of bed and crossed the small room in three strides just as Sam cried out loudly.

There was movement in the hall and Bobby and Castiel crowded in the doorway.

"What's wrong with him?" Castiel asked.

Dean thought it should have been obvious already. Castiel had seen Sam's suffering the previous day and should have connected the dots as easily as Bobby had. He was being obtuse.

When Dean didn't answer, consumed with worry for Sam, Castiel asked again and Bobby explained, "It's the Blade. Sam's having some kind of reaction to being separated from it."

"I see," Castiel said knowingly. "I suppose we should have–"

"Get out!" Dean roared, rounding on them. "Leave us the hell alone!"

Bobby stared into his eyes, seemed to see his resolution, and pulled Castiel away. Before the door had even closed behind them, Dean was back with Sam who was moaning with pain.

"Where does it hurt, Sammy?" he asked gently.

"Everywhere," Sam said grimly, not opening his eyes. "It hurts everywhere."

"Easy. You're okay."

He laid his fingers on Sam's throat to check his pulse, finding that it was rapid and his skin was burning with high fever. He pulled back Sam's blankets and patted his cheeks to rouse him enough to talk to him. Though his touch was light, Sam flinched away from it in his hypersensitive state.

"Sammy, you need to work with me," he said. "You're burning up. We need to get your shirt off."

Sam opened bloodshot eyes and frowned. "Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Sit up for me."

Though he wanted to help, he knew his touch would cause him more discomfort, so he pulled back the blankets further and watched Sam struggle to sit up and pull off his shirt. He tossed it down beside him and collapsed back on the bed with a groan.

"I'll get you some painkillers," he said.

Sam nodded. The fact he agreed without protest made Dean worry even more. Sam fought meds usually. He walked to the door but when he opened it, he saw Bobby on the threshold with two yellow medicine bottles in his hand and a bottle of water. He held them out without a word and Dean took them.

"We're going to need more water," he said. "He's burning up."

Bobby nodded and walked away just as Sam retched. Dean grabbed the bin from the corner and rushed to get it under Sam, but he wasn't sick. He just panted a moment and then relaxed again.

"Sammy, Bobby's got you some painkillers. You think you can keep them down?"

Sam held out a hand and Dean checked the bottles, seeing that one was a heavy-duty sedative. Thinking it might help, he shook one out onto his palm and then added a painkiller. He handed them to Sam and uncapped the water. He knocked back both of the pills and chased them with water.

Dean waited anxiously to see if his stomach would accept them, sitting on the side of the bed across from his brother and was glad when it seemed like the pills would stay down. When Bobby brought more water and a facecloth, Dean thanked him quickly and went back to Sam.

It took a while for the pills to kick in, and Dean sat speaking soft words to his brother and wiping his flushed face with the cool, damp cloth while he waited for some sign of relief. He tried to tally what was happening now compared to how Sam had been before. He had seen little of the first withdrawal, though he had heard much of it through the floor and the door of the panic room. He'd gleaned more details of it from Chuck's writing. This was the first time he was getting a close-up view of it. He couldn't work out whether it was worse than before this time or the same. It felt worse, but that could be because he was so close to it.

The medications seemed to work eventually; Sam's eyes drifted to half-mast, and he stared up at the ceiling blankly. He still flinched occasionally, and made soft moans, but he seemed to be mostly on top of the pain now.

Bobby came twice to check if they needed anything, one time bringing a coffee for Dean, but Castiel stayed away, for which Dean was grateful. He didn't want to deal with the former angel.

A couple hours passed and the sky outside had lit with the dawn before Sam's moans increased in volume. Dean went to his side. "It's okay, Sammy. You can handle it."

Sam shook his head and spoke in a weak voice. "I need more. It hurts."

"I can't give you more meds yet," Dean said. "It's not been long enough."

"I _need_ them," Sam said in a moan.

"You'll OD."

"I can't take it, Dean," he said desperately.

"You can," Dean said, feeling like an asshole but knowing he couldn't dose Sam again for another couple hours without risking killing him. "You have to get through this. Lucifer needs you to." He hated to use Lucifer's name, knowing it could hurt Sam in this state as much as help him, but he did what he had to do.

Sam nodded and spoke in muttered Enochian. Dean knew he was praying, so he stayed silent and let Sam take the comfort of speaking to his lover.

* * *

Dean was almost as relieved as Sam when it came time to give him another dose. He had been quiet for a while, but Dean didn't think it was because he was feeling any relief. He suspected it was because Sam was now just accustomed to the pain and had no energy to react left.

"Here, Sammy, you can take some more now," he said, shaking the pills into his hand.

Sam rolled over and took the pills, swallowing them down without water, then flopped back down again.

"You need to drink, too," Dean said. "You've got a fever, so you need to stay hydrated."

Sam sat up and took the bottle of water in a shaking hand. He drained half of it before setting it down on the edge of the bedside table.

"How are you doing?" Dean asked, cursing the dumb question as soon as it passed his lips.

Sam stared at him, his eyes pained and bloodshot. "I'm fine."

"You must be feeling more like yourself if you're lying about that," Dean said.

Sam forced a grim smile. "I guess I must."

He shuffled back to lean against the headboard. He brought his knees up and hid his face. Dean had rarely seen him looking so vulnerable.

"You're going to be okay," he said.

"You think so? I don't."

"You will!" he said forcefully. "You have to be!"

"I don't know, Dean. This is the third time I've been through this now. Every time I've been sure it would kill me. Maybe this time I'm out of luck."

"No!" Dean growled. "You can handle this."

"If I do die," Sam went on as it Dean hadn't spoken. "You have to bring Lucifer back anyway."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Dean asked harshly. "We need you and the Blade to do it, so you have to fight to stay."

Sam shook his head. "I was thinking about it, and I think if you were to get Metatron's blade off of him somehow, you can make it work. Crowley could use that spell Alastair used on Castiel that time when Anna was here to hold him, and you could use warded restraints to trap him. You could do it. Maybe if he just sees the Blade, it would be enough to scare him."

"I can't!" Dean snapped. "We need you!"

Sam sighed. "I think you could make it work."

"Dammit, Sam! You have to quit this shit. You're not dying. When it's out of your system, you'll be okay,"

Sam looked at him sadly. "It's never going to be out of my system though. This isn't like the blood. It's not going to pass. I will never be free of the Blade because the Mark will still be there. This is it for me now. I don't think even Lucifer can help. He couldn't last time."

Dean's mouth dropped open. They had been treating this like the demon blood, because the symptoms were so similar. He hadn't considered the fact that there was a chance it might not have an end the way demon blood did. Now he was horrified. Was Sam going to suffer like this forever, gradually getting worse until it killed him?

* * *

The answer was no, he was not going to suffer like _that_ ; he was going to suffer more. Another hour passed of Sam sitting curled on the bed, obviously in pain but coping, when he suddenly jolted as if an electric shock had pulsed through him.

"Sam!" Dean leapt to his feet and rushed towards his brother.

Sam's head snapped up and his eyes fixed on something outside the window. For a moment, he looked almost blissful, and then he froze, terrified. "Lucifer?"

Dean cupped his face in his hands, not caring about hurting him now, and said, "It's not real, Sam. Whatever you're seeing, it's just your mind playing tricks. It's the Mark."

Sam stared right through him, horror etched into his face. "Don't! Please don't," he begged. "I'll do better. Please!"

Dean's eyes burned as he snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face, trying desperately to break into his thoughts. Part of him wondered what Sam was seeing. Obviously, it was Lucifer, but what was he doing? Could he be hurting Sam, or leaving him maybe? He couldn't decide which would cause him greater pain: physical agony or heartbreak.

Sam jolted again and he cried out, his hands coming to his hair and yanking hard on the strands, tearing them from his scalp.

"No, Sam!" he shouted, trying to pry Sam's fingers open before he yanked out clumps. Sam's hands released suddenly and began to claw at his throat and bare chest, cutting deep scratches into the skin. Dean tried to stop him, but Sam was too strong, powered by the horror of the hallucination.

"What's going on?" Bobby asked from the doorway, his voice panicked.

"Help me!" Dean shouted. "He's ripping himself to hell."

Bobby rushed forward and grabbed Sam's right wrist while Dean leaned over the bed and grabbed his left. He pulled on it as hard as he could, and Sam's clawed fingers moved away from his chest. He continued to scrape at the air as if it was his flesh. His teeth were gritted, and a trickle of blood was running down his chin.

"Is he seizing?" Dean asked.

"He's doing something," Bobby said.

"It's going to kill him, Bobby," Dean said desperately. "We have to do something!"

"What?" Bobby asked. "What the hell can we do?"

Dean knew the answer to that, though he was loath to admit it, even to himself. He knew what Sam needed, but he couldn't give it to him. Sam, the real Sam, the one that wasn't under the influence of this thing, wouldn't want it.

Sam threw his head back and howled in pain, his teeth red with blood. Dean could see the gash he'd bitten into his tongue. He could feel Sam's pulse racing against his fingers wrapped around his wrist. It was dangerously fast.

"I can't do this!" he said, knowing the decision was made in that moment. "He needs help."

"What? What are you doing?" Bobby asked.

"Keep him safe," Dean said, releasing Sam and walking away to the door.

"Dean!" Bobby growled. "Don't do it."

Dean turned back, one hand on the doorframe. "He's right, Bobby. It's going to kill him."

"No!"

Dean was already gone. He rushed down the hall and pounded down the stairs to the library. Castiel was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. As Dean rushed in, he looked up. "How is he?"

Dean didn't answer. "Get up," he snapped.

"What?" Castiel frowned. "No, Dean! You can't!"

From up the stairs came another howl of pain. Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulders and bodily threw him onto the floor. He yanked the couch away from the wall and reached behind it for the cloth wrapped package. He pulled it out and unwrapped it. It felt wrong in his hands, almost like it was tainting him. He went back to the stairs as another howl of pain echoed down to him. Castiel was standing in the doorway, his arms spread.

"You can't do this, Dean," he said. "You will destroy him."

"I have to save him," Dean said doggedly.

"And if he kills one of us?"

Dean shook his head. "He won't. But if we don't get this to him, it _will_ kill him."

"I won't let you."

It was almost easy to transfer the blade into his left hand and shove Castiel back and out of the way. He fell onto the floor again, and Dean stepped around him to the stairs. When he got to the bedroom, Bobby was still trying to hold Sam's clawed hands away from his chest. He turned to Dean and shook his head. "No, Dean!"

Dean ignored him. "It's here, Sammy. I've got it."

The words worked like a bucket of water over Sam. His hands dropped to his lap and he stared pleadingly at Dean. "Please?"

Dean brushed past Bobby, deaf to his pleas, and held it out to Sam. He grabbed it by the bone blade and snatched it away. Dean expected him to slice his fingers on the keen edge, but Sam was uninjured. It was if the Blade knew it was him and wouldn't wound him.

Sam pulled it to his chest and cradled it there. His whole stance changed. He was relaxed. Even his color looked better now, some of the pallor gone.

Bobby grabbed Dean's shoulder and yanked him around. "What have you done?" he growled.

"I saved his life," Dean said. "Look at him, Bobby. He was dying and now he's okay." He sighed. "This was never going to end. He couldn't get through it like he did the blood as the Mark would never let go. It would have broken him until he gave up. I couldn't let that happen. I have lost him too many times already."

"And Lucifer? What about when he comes back?"

"Lucifer," Sam said dolefully. "I've lost him."

"You haven't," Dean reassured him. "You will get him back and he will still love you. He will never stop loving you. But you have to be strong. Can you do that?"

Sam nodded, his eyes fixed on the weapon in his arms.

"And Castiel?" Bobby asked. "What if Sam decides he's had enough of him? He almost murdered him once, and that was without a weapon. You heard what he said to him in the motel. He threatened to kill him."

"He won't," Dean said. "We'll make him safe. Sammy, you don't want to hurt anyone, do you?"

"No," Sam said distractedly, absently running his fingers along the handle of the Blade.

"Well that makes me feel so much better," Bobby snapped.

"We'll take him to the panic room," Dean said. "Sam, will you let us do that? Can you stay there so Cas is protected?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I can do that."

He struggled out of his tangled position and tried to stand. He stumbled, and Dean supported him.

"Bobby, get Cas out while we go down there," he said. "I'll call you when it's okay for him to come back."

"This is a bad idea, Dean."

"It's the only thing we can do. It will save him. Now get Cas out."

Bobby threw his arms up despairingly and walked out of the room.

Dean pressed hand to his brother's forehead. "You're cooler now, Sam. Think you can get a shirt on? It's going to be cold in the basement."

Sam nodded "Yeah."

Dean pulled a t-shirt and hoodie out of Sam's duffel and handed them to him. With slow movements, Sam pulled them on, passing the Blade from one hand to the other as if he was afraid of letting it go in case someone took it away again.

When Dean heard the back door slam, he led Sam out of the room and down the stairs. He still seemed a little unsteady, but he managed. Dean felt a chill of foreboding as they walked into the panic room. He had done this before, and it had been a nightmare then, too.

"I'll get you some stuff set up," he said. "Some water and food. Can you handle it if I leave you?"

Sam nodded and went to the cot hanging from the wall. He sat down and set the blade on his lap.

"I'll be right back," Dean said. He left the room and clanged the door closed, then opened the hatch and peered inside. Sam's eyes were fixed on the weapon in his lap.

Dean rested his head against the cool metal and sent up a prayer to an angel he wasn't sure could hear him. "Lucifer, you need to get back, man. I don't know how much longer he can hang on anymore."

* * *

Shortly after Lucifer heard Sam's broken prayer, his communications decreased to almost nothing. It panicked Lucifer, who needed to hear him more than anything now. When he did speak, he sounded distracted, as if he wasn't all the way there within his mind. He spoke briefly of having everything he needed and how he was looking for someone he only referred to as ' _Him',_ and then it trailed off.

Lucifer was working on another sigil when Sam's voice came to him again. He dropped what he was doing, actually letting his blade clang to the floor, as he listened hard.

" _Lucifer, I need you so much. I need your strength. I've got none left."_

Lucifer gasped. Even when Sam had been hurting, he had been strong. His voice had cried, raged and begged, but there was strength there. This time it was like a whisper, though filled with feeling. What more could have happened to bring him to this? It had to be more than just Lucifer's absence, he knew. Something terrible was happening to Sam.

He waited, straining for more, but when it came, it was jumbled and weak.

" _Lucifer, I love you. Come home… I tried… He's not here.… Can't find… Dean… So alone… Just like before… Hurts so much… Again…"_

Lucifer slid down the wall and rested his head on his knees. He couldn't bear to hear Sam brought so low. He didn't understand what had happened to him. It only grew worse as he listened, until Sam's words were tearing at him like claws.

" _I can't do it… It's killing me… I can feel it… I'm sorry…"_

"Sam, no!" he cried, the floor shaking beneath him. "Please, no!"

Gabriel skidded into the hall, looking excited. "Is it… What's wrong?"

Lucifer shook his head, unable to find words.

Gabriel came forward slowly and sat down beside him. "Lucifer, what's happened to him?"

"I think he's dying," Lucifer said, his voice wrecked.

"What? How? Why?"

"I don't know. I think maybe someone or something has him. He is suffering. He says it's killing him."

Gabriel sucked in a breath. "Lucifer, I am so sorry."

"If he dies, he will be trapped. He will be another soul crying out at the gates. He will be ruined, Gabriel! He cannot suffer like that. I can hear them. If I hear him out there with them, I will lose my mind. "

Gabriel laid a hand on his arm. "You won't. You're stronger than that. You have to be strong for Sam. He has been for you, so you can do it for him, too."

"But if he dies…" Lucifer moaned.

"Then you will save him when you get free. It's not perfect, I know. I don't want him to suffer either. But death will not be the end for him as long as you live. As long as you stay strong."

Lucifer hung his head. He would save Sam no matter what happened to him, but he would not be able to heal the damage that would be done to him in the Veil. That Sam would suffer with still.

"You have to be strong!" Gabriel said harshly. "If he does die, and I hope desperately that he won't, he will need you to be strong enough to save him. If you lose yourself to despair, you won't be able to, so pull yourself together.

Lucifer glared at him balefully. "You don't understand how I feel."

"You're right, I don't. I have never loved like that. But I can see what will happen if you lose yourself. If Sam is dying, if he dies, he will not be able to free you, so you have to do that yourself. Get off your ass and do something! Try your spells. Do what you have been doing all this time. Get us out of here and yourself back to Sam."

He got swiftly to his feet and yanked Lucifer up beside him.

"Don't make me slap you, Lucifer," he said.

Lucifer shook his head and tried to gather himself. Gabriel was right. He needed to get back to Sam. Nothing was going to happen if he stayed sitting on the floor.

He picked up his blade and cut his palm. Gabriel patted his shoulder and said, "I will come back soon. Stay strong, Lucifer."

Lucifer nodded without looking at him, working tirelessly until hours later, he heard a prayer that filled his heart with relief and his chest tighten with gratitude and love.

" _It's okay, Lucifer. Dean saved me. I am going to be okay now. I will save you."_

* * *

 **So… That was brutal. I have written withdrawal more times that I can remember, and it's always one of the worst things to write for me. There had to be a consequence for the Blade being taken though, and this was it.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	16. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic and Gredelina1 for all your help and support. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

 **FFnet has been misbehaving and not sending out alerts. You might have missed Chapter Fourteen if you didn't see an update last week.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Fifteen**_

Dean watched curiously as Sam worked the tool into the leather, carefully stripping away the strong outer layer and exposing the supple inner, carving in sigils Dean had never seen before.

He had been watching for over an hour as his brother slowly developed the restraints they would need to trap Metatron. It had been the project of much work, and Dean wondered what Sam would do with himself when it was finished. He doubted that he would be entertained by reading or surfing the web. He would have to think of something though, as Sam would suffer and stew in his misery otherwise.

Sam lifted the leather to the light and examined it carefully. He scratched away one more sliver and set it down on the cot beside him, where the blade lay.

"How does this work?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned a little. "There's a name for it, but I don't know it in English, just Enochian. It's like a devil's trap. It will stop him flying or using his angelic strength. It basically makes him equal to a human in abilities while they're on him."

"How did you learn them? Seems an odd skill for Lucifer to teach you when you were never planning to come back."

Sam smiled slightly. "He wanted me to know everything about his world, every detail. We were there so long that there was little else to do but learn. We spent the first few decades focused on just each other, and then we started to share our worlds. Lucifer had perfect command of the Cage and could show me anything. I watched all these things happening right in front of me: continents breaking apart, people being created. I saw the archangels together before they were ruined. I saw God even."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "Really? What's He look like?"

"I can't think of the words to describe Him. It was more a feeling than something you can see. It was like perfect love. I understand why it hurt Lucifer so much to be cast out by Him as He felt like everything. Lucifer loved Him more than anything in the universe, even his brothers, and when God asked them to value humans above Him, he just couldn't wrap his mind around it. He loved Him too much, wanted to be a good son, and it destroyed him ultimately. It reminds me a lot of you and Dad."

Dean frowned. John had never wanted Dean to value him like a God. He had been flawed—what person wasn't—but Dean's adoration was chosen by him not forced upon him. He didn't want to argue with Sam though, so he redirected.

"Does it hurt to talk about Lucifer?" Dean asked.

"Yes, but it keeps him alive, too. I worry that I'm being changed so much by this… thing… that the way I feel for him will be overpowered by it, that I'll lose him." He rubbed at his arm absentmindedly.

"That won't happen, Sam," Dean said. "You can never lose him."

"I never thought we'd be parted again either, and yet it happened." He raked a hand over his face.

"You're getting him back though," Dean said. "Look at what you're doing for him. You took on this Mark and found the Blade for him. It has tried to destroy you, but you're still fighting; you're fighting for him. It could have killed you, and yet you're here, managing it. You're better now that you've stopped… feeding it."

"It would have killed me," Sam agreed. "I could feel its teeth in me. I was trying second by second to win, but I couldn't fight it anymore. Thank you, Dean. You saved me."

"It's what we do," Dean said.

Sam shook his head. "I know Castiel and Bobby must have tried to stop you."

"Bobby was kinda distracted trying to stop you clawing your throat apart, but, yeah, Cas had a go. He didn't have a chance though."

"He is human now," Sam said.

"That's not what I meant. No one had a chance at stopping me, Sam. I think I could have even dealt with Dick Roman and gotten past. I know it's different for you now, with Lucifer, but nothing has changed for me. You're still my little brother."

"I know," Sam said. "It hasn't changed for me the way you think though. I've been an asshole since Lucifer was taken, I know, but he was all I could think about for a while. I think it took almost dying to see what I was missing with you. You're still my brother, Dean. Even two centuries in the Cage couldn't change that."

Dean stared up at the huge fan set into the ceiling and took a breath, needing a moment. He had needed to hear that from Sam more that he realized. For all his thoughts of Sam hanging on, still being there underneath, he had been terrified he'd lost him in his heart.

"I understand," he said. "I couldn't think of much past you since this whole nightmare started. It made me act like an asshole recently, too."

"Castiel?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. I think I hated him for a while. I couldn't even admit it to myself, but it was there. The things he was saying about you…"

"You shouldn't hate him," Sam said. "He's your best friend. He's done a lot for us."

"Do you hate him?"

Sam bit his lip. "I don't think it's hate exactly. It's more that he's just gone to me. I don't feel anything at all for him. I don't know if it's how I really feel or if it's the Mark influencing me. He wanted to take the Blade away and that made me snap. I really think I could have killed him, and that wasn't me, but how I feel now… I just don't know. I hope it's the Mark, because I remember I cared about him before. It's just I can't really remember how that felt."

It felt like a hammer blow to the gut for Dean to hear it. He knew there was something broken between Sam and Castiel, but this was still a shock. He hoped it was the Mark, too, as otherwise things in their small family would never be the same.

"You should make things right with him though," Sam went on. "Just because it's ruined between me and him doesn't mean it should be for you."

Dean nodded slowly. Sam was right, but Dean wasn't sure he could face the conversation. He wasn't good at talking about stuff like that. It felt like he'd spent all his emotional energy helping Sam and had none left to give.

"I'll go get us some food," he said.

"You don't have to come back. Have something up there with them. This place is crappy enough to be in without a murderous brother to watch, too."

"You're not murderous!" Dean growled.

"You think? I know a couple people upstairs that'd disagree with you."

"They don't know what they're talking about," Dean said doggedly. "You won't hurt me."

"Is that what you believe or what you want to believe?" Sam asked.

"It's what I _know_. You can't hurt me."

"I once pulled the trigger on you with a shotgun, Dean," Sam said reasonably.

Dean frowned and then the memory came to him. Ellicott had influenced Sam in that old asylum what felt like a lifetime ago, when they'd just been starting out again. "With salt rounds," he said, conveniently forgetting that Sam had also pulled the trigger on Dean's own unloaded gun. "You weren't yourself."

"You should stay away." His eyes moved to the Blade on the cot beside him. "I'm not myself now either."

Dean shook his head and stood. "I'm going to get something for you to eat, and then I'm coming back."

Sam shrugged. "Fine. Talk to Cas though."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, waving a hand as he walked away. He didn't bolt the door behind him, knowing he didn't need to. It was Sam's will that kept him trapped now.

When he got to the library, he saw Bobby at the kitchen counter stirring a pan. "How's Sam doing?" he asked at once.

"Really good," Dean said. "He seems more like himself than he has for weeks. I think he's really okay."

"That doesn't mean we should take risks," Bobby said.

"He said pretty much the same thing," Dean admitted.

"Good." Bobby nodded. "He's got that part straight anyway."

Dean bit down his annoyance. If Bobby would just go talk to Sam, he would know how he was doing. He would know all these precautions were unnecessary.

"Where's Cas?" he asked.

"Outside," Bobby said. "Stacking firewood. Why?"

"I want to talk to him." Dean pulled open the door and walked out before Bobby could say anything else. He was doing this because Sam told him to, and because he wanted to make at least something right again. He couldn't fix Sam, but he could fix things between him and Castiel.

He went around the side of the house to the shed, hearing the clunk as Castiel stacked the wood. "Cas?" he called.

Castiel appeared around the door, a smudge of dirt on his face and his jeans and sweatshirt dusty. "Yes?"

"Can we talk?"

Castiel frowned. "What do you need?"

"To talk," Dean said pointedly. "Come out here a minute."

Castiel set down the piece of wood in his hand and stepped out of the shed. He looked uneasy, tensed for an attack. Dean tried to make him feel more at ease by stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning against the side of the shed.

"What do you need to talk about?" Castiel asked.

"What's been happening," Dean said. "Things aren't right, and I don't like it. I want us to be okay again." It cost him something to admit.

"So do I," Castiel said, sounding relieved. "I know I haven't been able to give you what you needed from me recently, and you feel that I have let you down, but I was doing what I believe was necessary for us all."

"You said some pretty shitty things," Dean said.

"And I did not enjoy saying a single one of them. I felt someone had to though. I am sorry that it has ruined what was between us, but I had to do what I felt was right. Someone needed to."

"I hated you for it," Dean said. "I didn't want to, I didn't even admit it to myself, but I did."

Castiel flinched.

"You wanted Sam dead. You know what my life was like without him, Cas. You know what he is to me. And yet you wanted us to kill him."

"Wanted is the wrong word," Castiel said. "I thought it was the only way. You have shown me I was mistaken. Even giving him back the Blade, which I thought would kill us all, has ultimately ended better than I could have hoped. I am glad I was wrong. I underestimated Sam's inner strength and the power of Lucifer's love. I didn't think to give Sam something else to cling to instead of his anger."

"No, you didn't," Dean agreed.

"Do you hate me still?" Castiel asked.

"No. It wasn't a hate powered by anything but fear and anger. Real hate is a passion. I don't have that. Sam's okay now, and that's the most important thing."

"Do you really think he's okay?" Castiel asked.

"He's not _okay_ ," Dean amended. "The Blade and Mark have still got their claws in him like an infection. He's not going to be able to give either of them up easily, but I think when Lucifer is here, we'll be able to take care of it. Lucifer was the one that basically created the Mark, so he has to know more than any of us. And no one will be more motivated to fix it than him."

"You're right," Castiel said. "Perhaps then I will be able to have this conversation with Sam, too." He eyed Dean curiously. "Do you think I will be able to?"

"I don't know," Dean said honestly. "Neither does Sam. I know he didn't _want_ to hurt you at the motel, but you were trying to take away the thing he was addicted to."

"He would have killed me."

"Yeah, he probably would have. But he didn't. You have to remember that he couldn't control that. It wasn't really him; it was the Mark. We'll just have to see what happens when it's over."

He nodded. "I'm glad things for us are okay, at least. Now, I should get back to the wood. Bobby says it needs to dry."

As he walked past, Dean caught his arm. Castiel looked shocked for a moment, and then he huffed out a breath as Dean pulled him into his arms and hugged him. His hands came up slowly to return it.

Someone coughed and Crowley's snarky voice said, "Hate to interrupt, I can tell you boys are having a moment, but we need to talk."

Dean quickly stepped back from Castiel and said. "What do we need to talk about?"

"The state of the economy," Crowley said sarcastically. "What do you think? Metatron of course."

"You've found him?" Dean asked.

Crowley walked away and into the house. Dean and Castiel exchanged a glance before following him.

They got inside just as Crowley was making a theatre of looking around the room. "Where's the moose?"

"In the basement," Bobby said.

"Working out again? Is he planning on competing in the Highland Games?"

"The what?" Dean asked.

"Never mind." He walked into the hall and shouted through the basement door. "Oi, Moose, come on up."

"He can't come," Castiel said. "He's in the panic room."

Crowley snorted. "What did he do this time?"

Dean didn't answer. He pushed past Crowley and shouted down to Sam. "Sammy, Crowley's here. You can come up."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "He's not locked in?"

"No," Dean said. "He's fine."

"He's not coming though," Crowley said. He stuck his head around the door again and said, "Sam! Quick! There's something wrong with Dean!"

There was the sound of the panic room door clanging open and then feet pounding the stairs before Sam rushed into the hall. His eyes fell on Dean and raked him up and down. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Dean said. "Crowley is just being an asshole. I'm fine."

Sam relaxed and turned to Crowley, seemingly oblivious to Castiel and Bobby's worried surveillance. "Another progress report of fuck all?"

"No," Crowley said snidely. "It's a progress report of how I have used my full magnificence and incredible intellectual prowess to find that little shit Metatron."

Sam stiffened. "Where?"

"He's in New Mexico. It's where he has his little hidey-hole. Santa Fe, place called the Two Rivers Hotel."

Sam stared at him, and Dean saw his pupils were blown. He hoped it was excitement at the thought of finally having Metatron in their grasp that made him look like that, but he couldn't be sure. He thought perhaps it was the Mark making itself known.

"We have to go!" Sam said. "Now! Who knows how long he'll stay there."

"That's almost a day's drive away," Bobby said. "Even if we take shifts, it's going to take the rest of the day and half the night."

"Crowley," Sam said. "You take me and Dean there now."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Bobby said. "We should stay together. You and Dean going off on your own…"

Sam closed his eyes and took what was Dean thought was supposed to be a calming breath. His tone was still harsh as he said, "Dean will be fine with me. If it helps, I'll leave the Blade here."

Castiel and Bobby exchanged a glance and Bobby nodded. "Okay, that works, but why bring him back? We can… talk…with him there just as well as here."

"Because it's going to take time to unpick him, and I don't want to be interrupted," Sam said.

Dean thought of what that 'unpicking' was going to involve and he fought down a shudder. "Okay, That's fine with me. Sammy, go get the restraints, I'll load up a bag with holy oil and some weapons in case there's trouble."

Sam nodded and went back down to the basement.

"No weapons we have except holy oil are going to work on Metatron," Castiel said. "Are you thinking of your own defense?"

"No!" Dean snapped, knowing what he was referring to. Sam would _not_ hurt him. "I am thinking of anyone else that needs to be dealt with."

With Bobby sputtering angrily behind him, he walked out to the Impala and began load a duffel with weapons. Crowley followed him out and leaned against the side of the car. "Is there trouble in your happy-yet-dysfunctional family?"

"Screw you, Crowley," Dean said.

"I see. Is this something to do with why the moose was supposed to be locked down?"

Dean didn't answer; instead, he redirected. "Sammy said there's a spell a demon can do to expel an angel from its vessel."

"There is," Crowley agreed. "But it seems kinda counterproductive to expel the angel we've been spent months searching for."

"Sam thinks it'll work to distract him while we're getting him locked down. He's made some special restraints to use. They've got some sigils on them."

"Never heard of that," Crowley said.

"No, Cas hadn't either. We think God didn't want them known. Lucifer knew about them though, and he taught Sam. He's pretty sure they'll work." He slammed the trunk closed and walked back into the kitchen just as Sam came up the stairs. "Ready?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, his hands trembling slightly. "The Blade is in the panic room still. Just… don't touch it, okay?"

"Not a problem," Bobby said. "Call when you have him."

"Good luck," Castiel said, looking at Sam.

Sam ignored him, staring at Crowley. "Let's go."

Dean felt a lurch in his stomach and then they arrived in a room that looked like an old study. The furniture was dark wood, and almost every surface, including the floor was covered in piles of books. It made Bobby's place look like a Home and Garden showpiece.

He had less that a second to take it in before all hell broke loose. Sam bellowed in anger as Crowley grabbed the angel by the throat and laid a hand on his forehead, chanting in rapid Latin. _"Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferna, me confirma!"_

Metatron froze, seemingly terrified, and Sam rushed behind him. He slipped the noose he had made around Metatron's neck and pulled it tight as he brought the angel's right hand up his back and slapped the attached cuff around his wrist. Dean quickly grabbed Metatron's free hand and pulled it into place so Sam could fasten the second cuff around it. As they released him, Metatron's hands dropped slightly, tightening the noose around his neck.

"That's enough, Crowley," Sam snapped, and the Latin cut off abruptly.

"This better work, Moose. If he flaps off, I'm going to be miffed."

"Work?" Metatron laughed a little hoarsely. "Angels cannot be bound with leather."

"Try then," Sam said, walking around slowly to face him. "See what happens."

Metatron smiled smugly and then winced as if struck by a sudden pain. "What did you do?"

"It's something I learned from Lucifer," Sam said. "Shame God didn't tell you about it too."

Dean took in the angel for the first time. He was squat and ugly. His pouchy eyes were watery and they were fixed on Sam.

"Sam Winchester, I presume. Nice to meet you at last. Tell me, are you missing Lucifer terribly?"

Sam slammed his fist into Metatron's jaw. The angel didn't even flinch.

"I won't be missing him for long," Sam said. "You and I are going on a trip, and then we're going to have a talk."

"You think you scare me?" Metatron asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, maybe not yet, but I will."

Crowley nodded. "He's not wrong you know. The moose has a surprise for you, Metatron."

Metatron shook his head, clearly amused. "There is nothing you have that can hurt me."

Sam just smiled darkly at him, the menace in his eyes unmistakable.

Dean almost felt bad for the angel. He had no idea what was coming.

* * *

 **So… Metatron is trapped. About damn time. In the next chapter we'll see Sam work out some of his issues on the angel.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	17. Chapter 16

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredelina1 for helping and supporting throughout. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Sixteen**_

Dean felt a thrill of nerves as he and Sam wrestled Metatron into the chair in the center of the panic room. Dean held the angel's shoulders to keep him in place as Sam released his hands from the torqued position behind his back. They didn't want the angel to be comfortable; they just wanted access to his hands when Sam started to question him. Fingers were incredibly sensitive.

"Ahhh, that's better," Metatron said, trying to roll out his shoulders despite Dean's vice-like grip on them. "That was getting a little uncomfortable. Can I assume this change portends an improvement in my status? Are we going to talk like gentlemen now or are you going to continue to behave like Neanderthals?"

"You're not a gentleman," Dean said harshly. "You're the vilest monster I've ever seen."

Metatron chuckled. "Coming from the man that had Satan as a brother-in-law, that's a pretty bold statement. Also, factually untrue. All I did was teach the angels a lesson. Lucifer tried to end the world as we know it."

Sam slammed a fist into his jaw. It didn't hurt the angel, but he still seemed to gain some semblance of satisfaction from it.

Metatron sneered. "Ooh, that tickles."

Sam didn't respond as he forced his hands to lie against the arm of the chair and bound them with Enochian-etched restraints. When both hands were locked in place, he stepped back.

"So, what's next?" Metatron asked. "You going to make with the torture? I know you don't have a blade, so what's the plan? A Barry Manilow CD and tickle stick? Teen comedies from the nineties? Put American Pie on and I will tell you everything."

"You and I are going to talk," Sam said darkly.

"Well, that's suitably scary. No, wait, it really isn't. You might be Lucifer's latest toy, but you're just a human at the end of the day. I am the last angel on earth, and I am not going to be beaten by you."

"You really are," Dean said.

Metatron laughed. "You could hold me here millennia and I still wouldn't break for you. I wouldn't even mind waiting for you to die of old age before I get free. I think I'd enjoy seeing your brother wither and die without his lover here to hold his hand. I won't wait though. I will find a way to free myself long before then. I give you a week tops."

Dean's hands fisted at his sides. The fact the angel was so calm in the face of their fury incensed him. He couldn't even imagine how Sam must be feeling. He glanced at him and saw that his jaw was tight and his eyes narrowed.

"We won't need a week," Sam said. "I will break you before the end of the day."

Metatron seemed to settle more comfortably in his chair and his eyes fell on the restraints. "So, Lucifer taught you a trick to bind an angel. Did he teach you anything else?"

"He taught me everything," Sam said.

"But did he _tell_ you everything, too? Did he tell you about the great day that Michael cast him into the Cage? No battle before or since could match it. We watched in awe as Michael beat Lucifer bloody. Did he tell you how he wailed for our father to save him? I never heard such misery before. He cried for help that didn't come. He was under the delusion that God actually cared for him. He thought he was the one that shone brightest of us all. He couldn't have been more wrong." He sneered at Sam. "Do you think he cries for you now?"

Dean saw Sam's eyes snap to the cloth wrapped blade on the desk and a look of longing creep over his face.

"Dean, get the holy oil," he said. "I think Metatron looks cold."

Dean nodded. "I think you're right. He walked out of the door, thinking only of the hope that was alive in him at last. He didn't worry until he heard the door clang closed behind him and the bolts engage.

"Sam?"

He rushed back and opened the hatch. Sam was standing just inside, looking back at him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"You can't be a part of this, Dean," he said. "This is between him and me."

"No! You need me. I have to…" He didn't know how to frame the words. Sam was doing better before they got Metatron. His hard-won humanity was his strength. Now they had the angel Sam had needed for so long, and the Blade, he was worried what would happen to his brother. He had no fear for him physically, but he feared for his mind and soul. He didn't want Sam to lose himself to the Blade again. There might not be a threat big enough to bring him back again.

"I don't need you," Sam said, his eyes dark. "I can do this alone."

"Sam!" he growled. "Let me in!"

Sam shook his head and fumbled with something out of Dean's eyeline. There was a squeak of metal and Dean's view was blocked. He couldn't even see a glimpse of light through the hatch. He hammered on the steel door and shouted his brother's name, but there was no response.

"Sam, please!" he said desperately.

It could have been his imagination, delivering what he was fearing most of all, but he thought he heard two more words from Sam. "Goodbye, Dean."

* * *

Sam turned back to the angel in the chair, the object of his hatred, and smiled cruelly.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're pretty when you smile?" Metatron asked conversationally. "Lucifer maybe? It really changes your whole face."

"Good," Sam said. "It's going to be changing a lot more as I take you apart."

Metatron snorted. "You really think you're capable of that? You may have been Lucifer's newest infatuation, but you're nothing to me. You can't hurt me."

"How do I free the angels?" Sam asked.

"As if I would tell you, a pathetic example of humanity. You're not going to hurt me, so I think I will just sit here, nice and comfy, while you gradually get more unhinged. I can see it in your eyes, you know. You're slipping. How's it going to feel for your brother when you go completely off the deep end?"

Sam walked to the desk where the Blade was, wrapped in its protective cloths. He picked it up by the handle, feeling the peace it always brought him. It was enhanced now, as if it knew it was close to achieving what it had been claimed for.

He walked back to stand in front of Metatron, slowly unwinding the cloths to gradually reveal the Blade. As it was uncovered, Metatron's eyes widened fearfully for a moment. He quickly schooled his face into amusement again, but Sam knew what he had seen. The angel was scared. He should be. He was going to suffer more than just fear before the day was over. He was going to hurt.

"Where did you get that?" Metatron asked curiously.

"It took a long time," Sam said. "It was hard to track down, but reasonably easy to get once we knew where it was. The time it took was a blessing in a way, because it gave me time to decide what I was going to do to you. Every night I went to sleep thinking of this moment, and now it's mine. I possess it. And I can put it to use."

"You don't 'possess it'," he said scathingly. "It's useless without the Mark, just an old bone. And Cain wouldn't give you the…"

Sam tucked the blade under his arm and unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt. He rolled it up to reveal the Mark. He hoped to see Metatron's fear again, and he did for a second, and then the angel laughed.

"You took the Mark of Cain! Do you even know what you have done to yourself? Do you know what this means?"

"Castiel already gave me the info-dump," Sam said, "I'm not worried."

"You really should be. You have destroyed yourself. You will never recover from what you have done."

Sam shrugged. "As long as it kills you, I think it's worth it."

"You're not going to kill me. What good am I to you dead? If you want something, ask me like a gentleman, and I _might_ deliver."

"Tell me how I set the angels free!" Sam growled.

"That's not asking like a gentleman. You call me by name and don't make demands. Try again."

"Tell me how to set the angels free, you dick."

Metatron shook his head sadly. "Really, this just isn't good enough. Let me take a guess; you're not very well read, are you? You've never picked up a Bronte. You don't know how civil people interact."

"Maybe not," Sam said. "I'm a hunter, a Winchester; we know violence. You'll see that soon enough."

Metatron sneered at him. "Do you even listen to yourself? _I'm a hunter, a Winchester._ You're an ant to me. You may have that cursed thing, but you will get nothing from me."

"I will," Sam said. "I am going to get everything I want."

He brought the tip of the blade to Metatron's cheek and broke the skin. Bright light bled from the wound and Sam dragged the blade down to open the wound to free more.

Metatron hissed in pain and tried to pull back, but he was held too tightly. Blood trickled from the wound down into his beard, and his eyes bugged.

"Not so strong now, are you?" Sam asked. "I can spend hours doing this. Days. Weeks if I need to. I know how it works. I can slice you apart piece by piece, watching the grace heal you; as long as I don't make a fatal wound, you're alive and mine. "

"Tortured many angels, have you?" he asked.

"None yet. Lucifer taught me everything though, and you know how good he is at torture. I can't wait to see how I measure up against him."

Metatron couldn't hide his shudder. The show of fear made Sam smile.

"You have a chance here, Metatron. You can tell me what I want to know, and you might make it out alive. I can leave the other angels to punish you for what you've done."

When Metatron didn't answer right away, Sam cut across his other cheek, creating a new tear-like trail of blood on his cheek.

"I can't tell you," Metatron said.

"You really can," Sam said.

"No, I don't mean won't; I mean I actually can't. There is no way. It wasn't like I flipped a switch that can be reversed. It's a spell."

"All spells can be broken," Sam said.

"This one can't. It was God's own words. I didn't create it. I just wrote down what He told me and performed it. It's His creation, not mine. I don't think even He could break it."

Sam slashed the Blade across Metatron's shoulder and he cried out in pain, breaking at last.

"You have no idea what's coming for you," Sam said. "Tell me the truth!" He jabbed the Blade into the wound and twisted it.

"I have!" Metatron howled. "There is no way!"

"Stop lying to me!" Sam bellowed.

The Mark on his arm was pounding to the beat of his heart. It wanted blood again. It had been dormant since the demons, but now it wanted to be fed again. It was back. Sam felt its teeth biting into him, the pain of it like the withdrawal. He would not obey the urge to kill yet though. He needed his questions answered.

He cut across Metatron's chest, slicing through his clothes to the skin beneath. Grace blazed and Metatron shouted out. Sam thought he heard, over the ringing in his ears, Dean's voice shouting outside the door.

"Tell me!" he ordered.

Metatron panted through the pain. "I can tell you other things. The tablets. There's more. One for the demons and one for the angels. I can lead you to them. And Castiel's grace! It wasn't all used on the spell. There's some left. Look in the King James Bible in the library of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Please, just stop hurting me!"

"I don't believe you," Sam said.

"It is, I swear!" he said. "There's a note on the back page. It will tell you where to find everything. It's Enochian, but if you take me I can…"

"I know Enochian," Sam said in the language Lucifer had taught him. "I don't need help."

"Great!" he said eagerly. "That's quite an achievement. It's a hard language to learn, and your pronunciation is perfect."

"Tell me how to get Lucifer back," he said angrily.

"I can't," Metatron moaned. "There is no way. The spell cannot be reversed. Look into my eyes and see if I'm lying."

Sam stared into the terrified eyes and saw the truth there. There was no way. He brought the blade up and pressed the tip to Metatron's throat.

The angel seemed to see his death approaching in Sam's eyes, as he suddenly changed. He was still scared, but he sneered now, goading Sam into a faster kill.

"It's good that he cannot come back! What you had together was sick and twisted. No angel, even Satan, should lower himself by falling for a human. He's as good as dead now, and that is what he deserves!"

Though Sam tried to resist, to make it last, his arm jabbed forward, slicing through Metatron's throat and killing him. His eyes blazed with grace as life was extinguished, but Sam couldn't stop. He thrust the blade into him again and again, slicing through his stomach and eviscerating him. He stabbed him in the heart and then drew the Blade to the side, breaking ribs and exposing his lungs. He cut at the face, removing the human features.

When he finally stopped, panting hard but the Mark appeased, he saw that the shape in the chair was barely human. The clothes were soaked with blood and it had pooled on the floor beneath. He was covered in the spatters and arterial flow, too. He could feel it dripping from him

He walked away and unbolted the door, leaving the mangled mess of flesh and blood behind him.

Dean was pacing at the bottom of the basement stairs. He was pale and his eyes terrified. His mouth dropped open when he saw Sam.

"Jesus," he breathed. "Are you okay?"

"He's dead," Sam said dully. "It's over."

Dean frowned, obviously calculating Sam's reaction to the news. He didn't know what Metatron had told him. He didn't understand.

Sam walked past him, up the stairs and into the library. Bobby was sitting at the desk, and Castiel was pacing up and down like Dean had been. Crowley was sitting on the couch, the picture of relaxation. They all turned to Sam as he entered, horror etched into his features and dripping blood.

"Dear God," Bobby whispered.

Crowley chuckled. "Been redecorating, Moose?"

"Metatron is dead," Sam said.

"And Lucifer?" Dean said behind him. "Did he tell you how to break the spell?"

Sam bowed his head, tears burning in his eyes. "It's irreversible. Lucifer is gone."

"Oh God," Dean said, his voice cracked.

Sam nodded. "Crowley, can you take me back to the motel, please?"

Crowley stood. "Are you sure you don't want to clean up a little first? You've got a little something on your shirt. And your pants. And your face. Actually, Moose, did you just bathe in his blood?"

Sam raised the blade threateningly. "Just take me home."

Crowley nodded. "Car service, coming up."

Sam turned to Dean, staring into his stunned eyes and said what he had needed to say for more years than he could count. "I'm sorry."

Crowley laughed and swept him away. Such was Sam's internal torment that he didn't even notice the swoop in his stomach.

He arrived back in the bedroom of what had been his and Lucifer's home. His eyes fell on the photos of them together that were tacked on the wall. He stared into Lucifer's beloved face and a tear tracked down his cheek, cutting a path through the blood.

"Will there be anything else?" Crowley asked sarcastically. "You need me to pick up your dry cleaning maybe?"

"You can go," Sam said.

Crowley gave a sardonic bow. "Thank you, Master. I'll see you soon."

Sam shook his head. "You really won't."

Crowley snorted as he disappeared. Sam walked into the bathroom, his feet leaving tracks of blood on the carpet. He stripped off his blood-soaked clothes and threw them into the sink.

He didn't know why he was bothering, but it felt right to clean up first. He set the shower to running and stepped under the spray before the temperature had regulated. It pounded him with icy water and then searing heat. He barely noticed. The blood washed from him down the drain. He ran his hands through his hair, feeling the tacky tangles. He scrubbed at his skin until he was clean, and then he stepped out and dried himself off roughly with a towel.

He went back into the bedroom and took clean clothes from the duffel, choosing a blue shirt that had always been a favorite of Lucifer's and a pair of clean jeans. The clothes wouldn't stay clean for long, he knew, but it felt right that he was dressed as Lucifer had liked. He wanted to do whatever he could to make this moment about Lucifer as much as him, wanting to be as close to the man Lucifer had loved as he could be one last time.

The blade was on the bed. He picked it up and sat down on the bed he had shared with his lover. It had been the place of so many moments of intimacy, emotional as well as physical. It was here that they had spoken through the night about everything and nothing. Lucifer had wanted to know everything that had passed while they were apart, every thought Sam had and what led him there.

He would never have that again. That was why he had to do it. He had to get back to him somehow, even though he knew it would break the ones he left behind.

He brought the blade to his left wrist and willed it to work. It had never hurt him before, but the thought this time it would, as it would know what he needed. He sliced across his wrist and a spray of arterial blood shot into the air.

"Thank you," he whispered.

He swapped the blade to his left hand and made the same cut, clumsily this time with the weakness and uncooperative injury to his right. The blood sprayed again, and he dropped the blade. He felt weak and dizzy and he tilted his head back against the wall. The warm blood soaked into his jeans and the blanket beneath him.

He closed his eyes, finding no will to open them again. "Forgive me, Lucifer. I failed. I'm coming," he whispered in Enochian. He wondered if his angel would be waiting for him as he had been last time.

Death came quickly, sweeping darkness over him, carrying him away.

* * *

Lucifer was painting another sigil, running over possible commands in his mind. He had exhausted every combination of words he could think of, but he had not used them with every sigil yet, so he was trying again. Eventually he would find a way, he knew.

He was painting in the curve of the last piece when he heard Sam speaking to him.

" _We have him! It's happening. I am saving you!"_

Lucifer physically jolted. Sam sounded so sure, so alive, that he could almost feel the touch of the fresh air on his face already, almost feel Sam in his arms.

He was going to love him like never before when they were together again. He would hold him in his arms an eternity, and that would be a good start. He would cling to him until forced to let go. He would hear Sam's laugh again, and he would be able to tell him he loved him. The conversation would finally be a two-way exchange, instead of him just hearing Sam's need. He would appreciate every single second they had together like never before. He would love him more than ever before.

He smeared a bloody hand through the sigil and laughed. "I do not need you anymore," he said scathingly. "Sam will save me!"

He began to pace the hall, his hands shaking. He didn't know whether Sam would speak again before he was freed, if he would tell him what was happening. He knew that Sam would be occupied now, doing whatever it was that needed to be done to free them, so he waited for the beloved voice in his mind or the freedom to come.

He tried stretching his quivering wings with each turn, but they remained trapped behind him. He considered talking on angel radio, telling them what was happening and that they were going to be freed, but he decided not to. They could be surprised by their freedom when it came.

When this was over, when they were free, there would not be a single angel in the universe that was not in Sam's debt. Sam, who had never felt himself worthy and whose offered handshake had been initially reluctantly accepted by Castiel the very first time, would be the savior of all. They would never be able to repay him for that he had done for them.

He waited an endless time before he heard Sam again, and what he heard chilled him.

" _Forgive me, Lucifer. I failed. I'm coming."_ His voice was a hopeful whisper.

He sucked a breath into empty lungs and leaned heavily on the wall as he moaned, "No."

There was no doubt in his mind of what Sam meant and what he was planning. He was killing himself in the erroneous belief that he would be able to reunite them with death. He would not, could not. Sam was doomed to the Veil. He was going to be ruined.

Lucifer did not rant or rage. He was too broken to do even that. He just steadied himself and then pushed away from the wall and walked away. He could not bear to go to the gates, to hear Sam calling to him above the clamoring noise to be allowed in, knowing he could not give him what he needed.

He could not make more useless sigils either. He had known in his heart that it was a fruitless effort for a while now, but he had kept trying to give himself something to do. He had failed completely. Sam, the angels, had needed him, and he could not deliver. He was worthless.

He walked through the halls, passing some angels but not noticing them, until he came to the heaven he had visited many times before. It was the place of peace for an Indonesian fisherman in the place that reminded him forcibly of Membata. It was the closest to home he could reach now.

He pushed open the door and his eyes were met with reddish light trickling through trees. He entered, letting the door swing closed behind him. He walked over the rough ground at the base of the trees and onto the smooth, soft sand. The sky was coming to life with the rising sun, the blue streaked with reds and orange. It was the most beautiful sight aside from the color of Sam's eyes, but he felt nothing. There was no joy to be had here.

He walked forward and collapsed back onto the sand as his knees buckled. He covered his face with his hands and howled his misery.

He would stay here forever, mourning his love, remembering him, and feeling his guilt. That was all that was left to him now.

* * *

 **So… I feel like I should say sorry. It's not the end of the story—obviously—but there's some seriously angsty stuff to come.**

 **The torture scene was originally written by Snarkymuch. Though I have completely rewritten the scene, there is probably some bleed, so credit to her.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	18. Chapter 17

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. Thank you Gredelina1 for being so supportive and you all for coming back again after I killed off Sam.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Seventeen**_

Crowley arrived in the motel room and sighed. It stank of the blood that had soaked into the bedding and wallpaper. It was going to be a helluva cleanup job for some poor bastard. Thankfully, he was not that person. He was going to take care of what needed to be done and get out of the stinking hole.

He looked around the room at the pictures tacked onto the wall, his lip curling at the sight of Lucifer's happy face. He was pleased the archangel was trapped and that the little squit Metatron was dead, as it meant he could go about his hellish business in peace again. He even had an earth chock full of demons at his command again. Life was good for the King of Hell. And the best part was he had done it all under the radar of the Winchesters and their sidekicks. They still thought he was on their side. Now… well, now he would have a playmate in the form of Sam Winchester, the world's newest Knight of Hell. It was a good time to be king.

He turned back to the macabre sight of Sam. He was soaked in his own blood and perfectly still. His pallor stood out starkly against the blood. Crowley wondered why he had gone to the trouble of changing clothes and cleaning himself of Metatron's blood just to coat himself in his own. Was it some misguided attempt to die as himself or was he just plain stupid?

The Blade was sitting on the bed, just out of reach of Sam's hand. Crowley picked it up and weighed it in his hand. It would be a good weapon to wield if only it didn't come with that pesky Mark. He would have enjoyed seeing the demons cower in fear at the sight of it in his hand. He put it in Sam's hand, wrapping the cold fingers around it and laid it on his chest. He waited for a moment for some sign of life, but there was none other than the wounds on his wrists knitting closed.

Sighing, he shouted, "Up and at 'em! Lots to do!" When there was no response, he poked Sam's shoulder. "Up! C'mon, your brother is going to show up soon, and I'd rather not have to deal with his crap. Ask yourself, 'What would Lucifer do'?"

"I don't care what _he_ would do," Sam said darkly.

Crowley cackled. "That's what I like to hear. Shrug off the old and embrace the new. We've got so much to do."

Sam's onyx black eyes opened and he looked up at the ceiling. "I feel different."

"Good different though, right? All those pesky cares washed away, grief, regret, love, all gone."

Sam sat up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. His brow furrowed in concentration and then he nodded. "All of it is gone."

"That's what I like to hear. A whole new world is open to you now, Sam. Come and explore it with me."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Well, you killed Metatron, came home, cleaned up and changed—not sure what that was all about—and cut your wrists. You died and now you're reborn. It's fantastic."

"Reborn as what?"

"A demon. Knight of Hell, actually. It's a good time."

Sam smiled grimly. "I'm a demon?"

"You're a black-eyed, murderous beauty."

Sam laughed harshly. "Castiel will be thrilled. He always did enjoy being right."

"He did," Crowley agreed. "You want to stick around, test out your new murderous motivation on him?"

"No," Sam said. "I think it will be more entertaining to watch him live instead."

"Does that go for Dean, too?"

Sam frowned a moment, considering. "Yes. I think it does."

"You really don't give a shit about any of them, do you?" Crowley asked gleefully. "Not even Lucifer?"

"No," Sam said. "I really don't. It feels like they were a dream I had a long time ago."

Crowley rubbed his hands together. "Good! Now, in the spirit of twisting the knife a little, let's set the scene. Give me your phone."

Sam tugged it from his jacket pocket and handed it over. Crowley searched through his songs, looking for something perfect. "Johnny Cash?" he asked. "I am losing respect for you, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "Lucifer liked it."

"In that case, it's perfect." He set the desperately depressing song to play on repeat and put the phone down on the bedside table. "We need to leave a message for big brother, too. He's going to come looking for you, and it's better for us all to give him something like closure. Admittedly, it's going to complicate matters for him to find your body missing, but I reckon he'll chalk that up to a demon snatch and grab. I know a few of my pets that would jump at the chance to defile your corpse."

Sam walked to the TV stand and picked up the pen and notepad there. "What do you think I should put?" he asked.

"I don't know. You're usually nice and dramatic. What do you think Dean would expect from you?"

Sam scratched down a note and threw the pad onto the bed. Crowley peered down at it and laughed as he read aloud. " _I'm sorry. Forgive me. Let me go._ " He nodded. "That's nice, Sam. Kinda perfect in fact. Exactly what they'd be looking for. Now, anything else you need?"

Sam shook his head. "Where are we going?"

"First, we're going to clean you up, and then we're going to paint the town red."

Sam picked up the Blade from the bed again and turned it in his hand. "I'm ready."

Crowley smiled wickedly. "I was really hoping you'd say that."

Sam started towards the door and Crowley coughed a laugh. "You don't have to walk, Sam. You're a demon now. Travel in style."

"How?" Sam asked.

"Click your heels together three times and try real hard," he said.

Sam glared balefully at him and Crowley thought his grip on the blade tightened.

"Concentrate on where you want to go," Crowley said. "And we'll be off. I've got a place in The Marriott Marquis in New York where you can clean up then I suggest Gieves and Hawkes, Savile Row, London. We'll get you kitted out in something other than flannel and we'll go from there."

Sam nodded, closed his eyes, and a moment later, they were gone.

* * *

There was a moment of absolute silence in the room after Sam and Crowley disappeared, and then Dean roared with anger as he punched the wall.

"Dean…" Bobby said gently.

Dean rounded on him. "What? What can you possibly say that will make this any better? Sam has lost the man he loves, forever. I am never going to have my brother back the way he was. He will spend the rest of his life with that Mark and Blade! He will be ruined, and it's all that little bastard in the basement's fault! Sam is ruined, and we will _never_ be able to fix him!"

"We will," Bobby said. "There has to be a way. You boys always find a way. We'll find Cain. He'll know what to do. We can fix this."

Dean shook his head. He knew in his heart that it was no good. There was no fixing Sam. "Even if we get rid of the Mark, we'll never get Sam back. Don't you see? Lucifer is trapped forever. Sam will never recover from that." He turned away and went to the basement stairs.

"Where are you going?" Castiel asked.

"I am going to get that evil bastard's body, and I am going to build a pyre of holy oil and I am going to burn him. I don't want Sam to ever have to see him again."

"We'll come," Bobby said.

Dean shrugged. He truly didn't care either way who was with him.

He walked down the stairs and into the panic room and then gagged at what he saw.

The figure in the chair wasn't immediately recognizable as human. It was only the hair and beard on the mangled head that made him see it was what was left of Metatron.

"My god," Bobby breathed behind him.

Someone retched. He heard the sound of vomit spattering the floor and the scent of it mixed with the blood in the air.

"You okay, Cas?" Bobby asked.

"What did he do?" Castiel said weakly.

"He killed a monster," Dean said. "He did what he had to do."

"That's not killing, Dean," Bobby said. "There are no words for what he did here."

Dean shrugged. "I would have done the same thing." Though would he have? He hadn't seen something so horrific since Hell, and even then, he had never done anything like this. Only Alastair had gone to these depths. Sam had gone to a place darker that Dean could have imagined.

He walked forward, his stomach rolling, and unfastened the bloodied restraints around the body. It fell forward onto the floor with a squelchy thud and Dean grabbed a blanket from a shelf. He laid it over the body and began to wrap it with ropes from the hook on the wall.

"Cas, go build the pyre," he said.

He didn't look to see if Castiel obeyed, but after a moment, he heard quick footsteps on the stairs.

"Dean," Bobby said quietly.

"I don't want to talk," Dean said harshly. "I just want to burn this piece of shit and go take care of my brother. I don't want him to ever have to be near this thing again." He finished wrapping the body and grabbed its feet. The blood was soaking through the blanket already, but he didn't care. Soon it would be burned and gone.

He dragged the bundle out of the room and to the stairs. He knew it would be easier to carry it, but he didn't want to touch it more than he absolutely had to. Bobby came to grab the other end, but Dean shook his head. "I don't need help."

Bobby frowned, but Dean didn't bother to explain his thoughts. He just dragged it backwards up the stairs, the head bouncing on each step, through the library and outside.

Castiel was building a pyre, and Dean dropped the body to help. He ferried wood from the shed and piled it. When there was enough, he poured over holy oil and stepped back. Castiel and Bobby lifted the body together and dropped it onto the stacked wood. Dean poured over more oil and then threw on a lit match. Flames rushed up, licking over the wood and the blanket, setting the body alight.

Dean stood, silently watching it burn. He wondered how Sam was doing, what he was doing. He couldn't fathom the pain he must be in. When Sam was in the Cage, Dean had at least had the comfort of knowing he was with the man he loved. There was none of that comfort now for either of them. He knew Sam was back at the motel, aching with grief, and Lucifer was trapped in Heaven, surely feeling the same. How could either of them ever be alright again?

Suddenly a thought struck him, as potent and certain as an electric shock. He had to get to Sam!

He ran to the car, hearing Bobby calling after him. He didn't stop; he took the keys from his pocket and yanked open the door.

"Dean!" Bobby barked at his side. "What's wrong?"

"Sam," Dean said, staring the engine. "Damn it! I shouldn't have let him leave."

Bobby ran around the car and threw himself in the shotgun seat as Dean spun the wheel and drove away from the house. He saw Castiel in the rear-view mirror, standing beside the pyre, his face blank with shock.

He roared through the streets to Sam's motel and slammed to a halt outside his room. He didn't bother to knock. He just bent and inserted his lock-picking tools. The lock snicked open and he rushed inside.

There was blood everywhere. The bedding was soaked in it and it was sprayed up the wall. The air stank of it. There was a clean patch of bedding where someone had lain, but there was no body.

"No!" he shouted. "Please, Sam, no!"

His ears were ringing and he felt faint, but there was a strange sound, like music. He shook his head briskly and his ears cleared. It _was_ music, and a plaintive voice was singing. " _If I could start again, a million miles away, I would keep myself, I would find a way."_ The words trailed off and then the song restarted. It had been set to repeat.

"It's not him," he whispered. "It can't be him. He's just killed someone else. A demon."

"Dean," Bobby said sadly. "It's him."

"No, it's not!" he growled. "He's not here. It can't be him if he's not here. He must have killed a demon and taken it away. Or!" He seized on the answer. "Or he's okay and took himself away. He could be on the way back to the house right now."

Bobby shook his head. "That's arterial spray, and you know it. There's no way anyone could lose that much blood and live."

"It's not him then!" Dean said desperately. "He killed someone else!"

Bobby picked up a pad of motel stationery from the bed and closed his eyes, sending a tear tracking down his cheek. "Look," he said miserably. "Read it."

Dean took the pad and looked down at the page. In Sam's familiar scrawl were seven words. _'I'm sorry. Forgive me. Let me go.'_

A cry built in Dean's chest and bubbled up his throat. "No!"

Bobby put his hand on Dean's shoulder and he turned into the older man's embrace. Bobby clung to him, his own sobs shaking him as well as Dean's. Dean was desperate, devastated. He wished his heart would just stop because this pain was too much to bear and live.

"It's okay," Bobby soothed, his hand cradling the back of Dean's head. "You're going to be okay."

"How?" Dean asked, his voice wrecked. "How can anything ever be okay again?"

"I don't know," Bobby admitted. "I'm sorry."

Dean pulled out of his arms and stepped back. "Where is he? Where's his body?" he asked in a broken voice.

"I don't know. Maybe the demons…"

"You think they would take it?" Dean asked, horrified.

"I just don't know. No one else has been in this room though; no one has found his body here. It must have been taken by something else."

"Crowley," Dean said. "He'd know. We have to talk to him." Dean had another need for the demon, but he didn't want to tell Bobby that. He didn't need to know yet. He would only kick up a stink about it.

"Let's go back to the house," Bobby said. "We can summon him and find out what he knows."

Dean nodded and let himself be steered away. At the door he hesitated. "We can't leave it like this." He went back in and grabbed the photographs tacked to the wall. Sam and Lucifer's happy faces smiled up at him, making his eyes burn. He tucked them into his shirt pocket and took out his zippo from his pocket. He walked to the bed and flipped the lighter open. He lit the corners of the bedding and then the curtains; they caught quickly but the blood-soaked bedding took longer.

He watched the flames take hold and then followed Bobby out of the door.

Bobby drove them back to his house while Dean leaned against the door, staring out of the window, watching the fields and houses whipping past. When Bobby turned onto his property, Dean sat up straight again.

The pyre was still burning, but Castiel had abandoned it in favor of pacing in front of the porch. Dean climbed out and walked right past him without a word. He went into the house and gathered the ingredients for a summoning from the cabinet.

He heard a cry of shock from outside and Bobby's voice speaking, hoarse and cracked. He barely registered it. All his energy was on keeping his thoughts focused on what he was doing, keeping himself from thinking about Sam and what had happened. He was succeeding until Castiel and Bobby came inside, their faces painted with tears and misery.

"Dean, I am so sorry," Castiel said tearfully.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "I thought you'd be doing a happy dance over this. What happened to you wanting him dead?"

"No!" He gasped. "You know that's not true, Dean. I never _wanted_ him dead. I thought it was the only way. Now…"

"Now what?" Dean asked, tipping the ingredients into the bowl and lighting the candles.

"I never knew humans could feel this capacity of grief," he said.

"You underestimated us," Dean said dully. "We can feel plenty. _I_ feel plenty." He felt desperation and agony and crippling fear that this wouldn't work.

He cut across his palm, not feeling the sting, and dripped his blood into the bowl before dropping in a match and saying the Latin required. Crowley appeared with a disgruntled look on his face. "Timing, Squirrel. I was getting myself measured for a new suit when you rang."

"Sam's gone," Dean said brutally.

"Moose took off?" Crowley asked. "Guess that makes sense. He's going to need a little time to get over the fact his boyfriend is gone forever now, isn't he? Give him a few years and he'll be back to something resembling human again."

"He's not taken off," Dean said.

Crowley looked from Dean's closed expression to Bobby's misery and Castiel's still flowing tears. "Oh," he said with dawning understanding. "When you say 'gone' you mean…"

"He's dead," Dean said. "It looked like a massacre happened in his room and there was a note."

"My condolences," Crowley said sounding almost sincere. "When you say it looked like a massacre, what do you mean?"

"His body wasn't there," Bobby said. "We don't know what happened to it."

Crowley nodded slowly. "Ah, that complicates things a little. I personally haven't seen it, but that doesn't mean another demon hasn't. I told you about Ambrose, right? Well he hasn't given up his hopes at the crown. And he's got a bone to pick with your brother. Seems the moose was killing some of his best people. If anyone would want to desecrate his corpse, it would be him and his cronies."

Dean swallowed hard. "Can you do something else for me?"

"Maybe," Crowley said. "Depends what it is."

"I want to make a deal."

"Dean, no!" Castiel cried.

"Quiet," Dean snapped, fixing his gaze on Crowley.

"I'm assuming the deal is your soul for the moose's life, right?"

Dean nodded.

"I would be happy to do it," Crowley said. "Unfortunately, we're missing a vital ingredient: the body. See, I can pluck his soul out of wherever it ended up, but I need somewhere to put it. Without a body to siphon it into, it's basically a ball of energy. It would make a nice table lamp, but it's pretty much useless for anything else."

Dean closed his eyes, absorbing the shock.

"Sorry, but there's nothing I can do," Crowley said. "Now, if you've got nothing else for me, I'll go back to my fitting. I'm thinking double-breasted this time. Thoughts?" When no one spoke, he sighed. "You're a lot of help. See you next time."

He disappeared, and Dean wiped at his face. "Dammit," he choked. "Sammy…"

* * *

 **So… I broke Sam. I know, I know, I'm sorry. I promise to put him together again before the end though. The first half of this chapter was a treat to write. The second… well, that was rough on the feels. It was difficult to outline, harder to write, and harder still to edit in its entirety. I promise some lighter times in the next chapter.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	19. Chapter 18

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your magic on this for me. I really appreciate you giving your time to the story. Thank you also Gredelina1 for all your help. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

 **I am updating early as this is one of the chapters I have been most eager for you all to read, and I just can't wait any longer. I am dying to know what you make of Demon!Sam, so please take a moment to let me know.  
**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eighteen**_

Sam stared out of the window at the red double-decker buses and black cabs driving past on the London street. Lucifer had shown him much of the world when they'd been in the Cage, and they'd traveled extensively since returning, but he'd never been to England before. So far, he liked it. Upon their arrival at the London store, they'd rousted the tailor from bed and had been served some very good whiskey as they were fitted for suits. Sam's usual shopping excursions had taken him to Walmart. This was a whole new world.

"So, this is a like a homecoming for you, Crowley," he said. "Being in London."

"In a way," Crowley said evasively.

"In what way?"

"Technically, I'm Scottish. That's where I lived my human life at least."

Sam frowned. "Then what's with the accent?"

"I think it gives me an air of mystique," he said.

Sam snorted. "Actually, it gives you an air of street urchin, but don't change it now. It'll be confusing for us all."

The tailor came back into the room with a swatch of fabric in his hands. "Here, sir. I was thinking charcoal for you," he said to Sam in his cultured tones.

Sam nodded his head at him. "Now that's an accent with mystique. You should have thought it through a little better, Crowley."

The tailor smiled blandly as he held out the swatch to Sam. "Sir?"

"It's fine," Sam said. "I don't want a white shirt though."

"Of course. What would you think of something on the grey spectrum?"

"The grey _spectrum_?" Sam said sardonically.

"I will show you some options," he said patiently, leaving them alone again.

"Really, Sam, do you have to be quite such an asshole? This guy is the best. I have been shopping with his family for centuries."

"That's real interesting," Sam said idly. "It must be nice for you to have a chance to build so many special memories."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Demon you is even more of a pain in the ass than the homegrown variety."

"Though you said I was a Knight of Hell."

"You are."

"Then we'll stick with that, thanks. Demon puts me on the same level as the rest of your bottom-feeders."

Crowley opened his mouth to answer and then he sighed heavily. "Damn. I'm being summoned."

"Let me guess, the call's coming in from Sioux Falls."

"Yep. I'll be right back. Time to tread the boards again."

Sam waved an airy hand as he disappeared. The tailor came back into the room with four shirts in his hand. "Oh, has Mr. Crowley gone?"

"He had some business to deal with. He'll be back like a bad smell though. He always is."

"Very good, sir. Very droll." He held out the shirts. "I think the graphite would look especially good with the charcoal. What do you think?"

Sam looked at the shirt he was holding out and nodded. "That's fine."

"And a tie? I have some very tasteful samples in silver and black."

"Nah," Sam said. "I don't think I want a tie. I'd end up looking like Crowley's sidekick, and that's just not going to work."

"Of course not, sir. I will have the alterations attended to at once. They will be ready tomorrow."

"I know you meant tonight."

"My seamstress is sleeping at the moment, sir."

"That's good. For a moment, I was worried you were going to say she was dead. The good thing about sleep is you wake up again. So, wake her up and get her to work."

"Absolutely, sir. I will do that at once."

"One minute," Sam said, holding up a hand. "I need another alteration done. I need an inside pocket big enough to hold something a little bigger than a sawn-off."

"You want to conceal a weapon?"

"Yes," Sam said, pleased he had caught on so fast.

"I'm not sure how comfortable I would be with that, sir."

Sam sighed, irritated at the man's presumption that his comfort meant a damn thing to him. He walked over to the polished wood desk where he'd placed the duffel containing the Blade and lifted it out then turned to hold it out to the tailor. "This is what we're going to hide. And before you get any dumb ideas about arguing, let me show you something." He leaned in close, touched the Blade to the man's chest, and allowed his eyes to flick to demon black.

The tailor's eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

"Seriously?" Sam said disparagingly. "Is now really the time? I want my suit, dammit!"

He poked the man with his boot, but he didn't rouse. Sam had moved onto prodding him with the tip of the blade in alternation with light kicks when Crowley returned.

He bowed low and said, "And… scene! Damn, I am good. Your brother doesn't have a…" He looked from Sam to the prone man. "Really, Sam, you killed him?"

"Don't be so dramatic. He's still breathing, isn't he?" He peered down to check, struck by the idea that the man might have had a heart attack, and was pleased to see his chest rising and falling. "He just fainted is all."

"What did you do to him?" Crowley asked.

"Nothing!" Sam said defensively. "I just told him I needed a slight alteration to the jacket."

"And the fact you have Goliath's toothpick in your hand means nothing?"

"He scares easily," Sam said with a shrug.

Crowley looked annoyed but quickly schooled his expression into something neutral. "Want to hear what's happening back home?"

"It's not home," Sam said disinterestedly, examining the blade in his hand.

"You want to hear or not?"

"Fine, fill me in on goings on at Singer's Salvage Yawn."

"Well, Dean tried to make a deal for you."

Sam snorted. "Of course he did, because that worked out so well last time. You think it's some kind of martyr complex or is he just that dumb?"

"Bit of both," Crowley said thoughtfully. "Anyway, I told him that I couldn't do anything without a body."

"Good," Sam said.

"And I lurked long enough to hear him vow he was going to find it so we could deal."

"Yeah, that'll happen," Sam said. "Who had the biggest coronary: Bobby or Castiel?"

"No coronaries. They seemed genuinely upset."

"Castiel, too?" Sam asked with a frown.

"Yep."

"Huh. I didn't think he'd pee on me if I was on fire lately. And Dean was always the chosen one for them both. Castiel's got this whole puppy love thing going on, and Bobby thought he was the second coming."

"That bother you?" Crowley asked.

"Not so much. Old Sam thought he deserved nothing less than their hatred after all he'd done in his life, and he had Lucifer. Now… well, now it's just plain funny."

Crowley clapped him on the shoulder. "You really are an upgrade on the old model. I can see we're going to have all kinds of fun."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, when this jackass wakes up anyway. I want my damn suit." He grabbed the man's collar and hauled him up. Leaning down he bellowed in his ear. "Wake up!"

The man didn't even flinch. Sam dropped him roughly and stepped on his hand. His eyes flew open and he howled in pain, cupping his injured hand to his chest.

"Real smart, Sam. How's he going to make anything with a busted hand?"

"I thought of that," Sam said. "He said he's got a seamstress that does the grunt work though, so I figure it's all good." He bent to the man. "Up you get. Have my suit made and _then_ you can go to a hospital. I'll be back in a few hours for it. Don't forget the alterations."

The man nodded jerkily as he sobbed. "Yes, sir."

Sam considered. "Crowley, what do your demons call you?"

"Sire," Crowley said with satisfaction. "Why?"

"Because I think I kinda like being called Sir and thought I'd have them do it, too."

"Good idea." He nodded vigorously. "It's always good to have something to separate you from the pack."

Sam smiled cruelly. "Don't worry. I've already got a couple ideas about that." He glanced at the attractive clock on the mantle. "We've got a few hours to kill, and I'm going to need shoes, too."

"I've got a nice Italian shoemaker I go to in Rome, but I am going to need your word that you're not going to scare the piss out of him. Or permanently disable him," he added as an afterthought.

"As long as he doesn't annoy me, he'll be fine."

Crowley sighed. "It's good to know you're just as unstable as a demon as you were as a human."

Sam lifted the blade slightly, aimed at Crowley's heart, and said quietly, "How about you keep that particular opinion to yourself in future. In fact, stay away from the topic of my human life at all, and I won't feel the need to scratch your back from the inside."

"You think you can scare me?" Crowley asked.

"Reasonably certain, yes. Now, let's go. I want some shoes and I'm feeling a little hungry. I hear Italy has good pizza."

"You realize it's about four-am in Italy right now, don't you?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm sure I'll find someone that'll cook for me. If not, I'll eat _them_."

"You're dark, Sam, really dark."

Sam smiled wickedly. "Didn't you hear? I had a very difficult childhood."

Crowley laughed. "Yep, we're going to have a lot of fun."

* * *

Sam Winchester as a Knight of Hell wasn't _exactly_ what Crowley had hoped for, but he was definitely entertaining. They had a good time in Rome, arranging for Sam to have some handcrafted loafers made for his clown feet. Thankfully, Sam had accepted that they couldn't be ready overnight, so they'd made a pass by Testoni to pick him up a pair that would suffice in the meantime.

They went back to Gieves and Hawkes to pick up his new suit and then Crowley decided it was time to take Sam to his court to see how Hell was run.

Admittedly, Hell's newest son didn't seem that interested in making the trip, but Crowley talked him around.

"You need to make your face known, Sam. The demons need to see you."

"The demons have already seen me," Sam said. "I'm a Winchester. We're kinda recognizable."

"Not to most of them. The ones we have topside now are all fresh from the pit. Most of them have never had the pleasure of your acquaintance. You need to give them a little facetime."

"Fine," Sam said, examining his fingernails. "Let's deal with the minions."

"You know, it's probably better if you don't call them that to their face."

"Why? That's what they are."

"I know you've never had a nine-to-five job, but there's such a thing as morale in the workplace. Underlings have to feel like they're valued or they'll start plotting against you."

"Like that Ambrose?

"Ah, yes, Ambrose…" Crowley said carefully. "That was technically a lie. There was a demon called Ambrose, I named him myself actually, but he was taken out by Metatron a while ago. There isn't actually anyone plotting against me."

"So _you_ opened the Devil's Gate?" Sam asked neutrally.

"Yes," Crowley said, examining Sam's closely guarded reaction.

He laughed suddenly. "Nice job. We didn't have a clue. In fact, I thought you were losing your touch. Good to know you're still on the ball after all."

Crowley smiled smugly. "It was one of my more triumphant moments."

"I bet. And the Scooby Doo Gang is clueless, which is even more awesome."

"Scooby Doo Gang? You sticking with that name?"

"Not sure," Sam said thoughtfully. "I'm still kinda testing it out. If you've got better ideas, please share."

"I'll give it some thought. Now, we're going to Fall River, Massachusetts. Just follow me."

Sam nodded and a moment later they were standing outside the Needham Asylum where Crowley kept court. He preferred it to the hustle, bustle, and howling of Hell.

Sam looked around with an expression of disappointment. "This is where you play King? Seriously? It's hardly a palace."

Crowley bit back his annoyance. "It's nicer inside."

"I hope so."

Crowley pushed open the door and walked inside, calling out, "Your King has returned!"

He always enjoyed announcing his arrival as it set the demons on edge and sent them scurrying away from him. Morale was all very well, but a little intimidation helped, too and he was a complicated being. He thought their visit would be a good reminder to Sam of who he was dealing with in Crowley, too. He was getting a little too confident in his skin already. Crowley needed to keep him in his place.

There were satisfying scrabbling sounds and quick footsteps in the rooms that they passed on their way to the throne room as demons prepared for his presence. He pushed open the double doors to the room in which he presided and walked straight to his throne. Sam followed him in, looking around. There were no other demons in the room yet; they would wait to be summoned.

"A throne, Crowley, seriously? It doesn't even look comfy."

"It isn't particularly," Crowley admitted. "It's all about presenting the right image though."

"Of a douchebag," he said quietly.

Crowley pretended not to hear the comment and called to his assistant, "Eric, you're required."

"Cute name," Sam said snidely, and Crowley ignored him again. He had given Eric his name. It was a fine name. It suited him. He looked like an Eric.

The demon scurried in and made a small bow to Crowley. "Welcome back, Sire. I trust your business went well."

"It went excellently. This is Sam Winchester. He is… new."

"We've met before," Eric said. "I was once honored enough to be exorcised by Mr. Winchester and his brother."

"You were?" Crowley asked. "That's great. You already have a working relationship."

"When was that?" Sam asked curiously.

Eric looked uncertain and then ducked a small bow to Sam too. "I came to your attention when I was possessing a pilot on a United Britannia airline flight."

"I remember that," Sam said nostalgically. "You were actually our first exorcism." He gave a brief chuckle. "And you were a real son of a bitch to get rid of. The plane nearly crashed."

Eric bowed his head. "Yes, Sir."

Sam looked pleased. "See? Sir already. This is a smart one. He'll be good to have around."

"Thank you, Sir." Eric said.

Crowley adjusted himself on his throne and gave Sam an indulgent smile. "That's good. Now, Eric, what has been happening while I've been away?"

"There have been five new deals made that require your expert eye, Sire, and a complaint from Cyril that Geoffrey has encroached on his hunting ground. Apparently, there was a family he was enjoying, and Geoffrey killed the mother before he had a chance to do it himself."

Crowley sighed. Geoffrey was an asshole that was known for getting in the way of other demons' enjoyment, but he was a smart one, too, a talented torturer and Crowley would hate to lose him. Good torturers were hard to come by, smart demons even harder. Eric was proof of that. Obedient he may be, he wasn't a genius by even the grandest stretch of the imagination.

"I will deal with him," he said. "Give me something good. I am in the mood for a success."

"Yes, Sire. I have one for you. Elsbeth has succeeded in procuring the artefact you required for your private rooms."

Crowley clapped his hands together. "That's better. Okay, bring her and the contracts in and I will deal with them first and then Geoffrey can be retrieved for me."

"Very good, Sire." He scurried out of the room.

Sam raised an eyebrow from his place leaning against a pillar. "This is Hell? I thought it would be a little more hellish, less corporate."

"This isn't Hell. This is my court. There's a difference. If you want a look at Hell, I will arrange a tour."

Sam shrugged. "You better get your paperwork over with first. I wouldn't want you to fall behind." He looked around again. "I have a question though. Why are you dealing with pissing contests between other demons? I'd have thought if they had an issue with each other, they'd tear each other's throats out. I didn't think they'd tattle."

"It's a holdover from Azazel," Crowley said. "He was among the first demons and he liked to do things traditionally. Disputes were dealt with by him and disobedient demons sent back to Alastair and his rack. A few decades of his razor and they were marginally better behaved."

Sam didn't seem to be listening. "Could I have taken Alastair in a fight?"

"I thought you did already. I seemed to remember him being pinged like a microwave dinner."

"Yeah, but that wasn't exactly me. That was the demon blood. I mean now, as I am, without assistance."

Crowley could have pointed out that he had plenty of assistance in the form of the Mark and Blade now, but he didn't want to make Sam moody and more irritating. "You are a Knight of Hell; Alastair and Azazel, as among the First and a Prince respectively, would have beaten you in hand-to-hand, but with your nifty blade, I'm not sure who'd win. No point dwelling on it now though. They're both gone. You and I are the highest ranking."

"What about the other Knights?"

"All dead," Crowley said. "Rumor was Cain took them out himself. All except Abaddon that is; she disappeared in the late fifties."

"Shame," Sam said. "I would have liked a challenge. You up for a bout sometime?"

"No," Crowley said. "I am King. I don't bout."

Sam sighed petulantly. "I guess you've got too much paperwork to do."

Crowley closed his eyes, summoned patience, and said. "Remember your place, Sam. It was Arthur that had the crown, not Lancelot."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Arthur may have been King, but Lancelot got the girl."

"In that case I will let you have first pick of the girls in future… and the boys."

Sam snorted. "I don't think I need help in that respect, but thanks for the offer."

Eric came back with clipboards in his hands and Elsbeth following with a wooden crate in her arms.

Crowley beamed at her. "Elsbeth, you're a pet. Eric says you've come through for me at last."

She bowed her head. "Yes, Sire. I tracked it to the British Museum in the end. Two guards were killed in their attempt to protect it. I have a few more bullet wounds, but the discomfort was worth it."

She set down the crate on the table beside Crowley and eased open the lid. Packed in straw was the beautiful Ming Dynasty vase. The piece was decorated with the characteristic blue flowers on white background. Crowley loved it at once. He had wanted one for a long time and his demons had been vying for the chance to deliver for him before it all went wrong with Metatron's decimation of their ranks. He finally had it. He lifted it out of the crate and held in up to the light. It was perfect.

"You've done well, Elsbeth. I'll remember it."

She smiled prettily. "Thank you, Sire."

Crowley set the vase down on the table and held a hand out for the contracts to be examined. Eric gave them to him and Crowley read quickly down the first page and scrawled his signature at the bottom, but then he paused when he saw the name on the second contract and snorted. "Is this a joke?"

Eric shook his head. "No, Sire. The contract is not yet signed, as you can see, but the offer is solid."

"He wants to be President?" Crowley questioned.

"Yes, Sire. He's really quite determined. I hear he has a slogan picked out already."

Crowley laughed to himself. "Well, I guess it'll be entertaining at least. Why the hell not? I could do with a laugh." America would benefit from being shaken up a little, or a lot. Really, there was no knowing how it would go. Crowley scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page and handed it back. "I'll deal with that one myself. Arrange a time and place and I will take care of it."

"Yes, Sire."

He read down the third contract and frowned. " _Another_ banker? Really, are there any banks left that we're not bailing out now?"

"I understand the Bank of Hawaii is still holding its own."

Sam huffed a laugh as he walked toward the throne and peered over Crowley's shoulder. "I'm bored."

"Patience, Sam," Crowley said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He reminded himself that Sam was still young. He wasn't even a day old as a demon. It was natural to be restless, annoying, in fact, a real pain in the ass. He was like a child. He needed a little time and a firm hand to bend him to the role Crowley had picked out for him. "Why don't you find something to entertain yourself with while I work? Go kill someone. Introduce yourself to the others. Find a playmate."

Sam scowled at him and then smiled wickedly. He reached out and, before Crowley could process what he was doing, he pushed the vase from the table. It shattered on the floor.

"Sam! That was a priceless Ming Dynasty vase!"

Sam shrugged. "I'm sure you can fix it. Bit of crazy glue and some time, it'll be good."

Crowley breathed in hard though his nose and counted to ten. He reminded himself that there was going to be a period of adjustment before Sam settled, and he had been an epic thorn in Crowley's side even before he was a demon. Besides, he told himself, he wasn't that attached to the vase. It was just a thing. There were other _things_ out there. He would find something better stronger, less breakable.

"I'm going out," Sam said, sounding every inch the moody teen.

"I'll come with you," Crowley said, thinking some more bonding time would be good for them both.

"No thanks," Sam said. "Wouldn't want you to get behind on your homework. I'll be home in time for dinner."

He strode out of the room, letting the doors swing closed behind him.

Crowley noticed Elsbeth's and Eric's eyes following him, their brows creased into frowns. "He's new," he said. "Just acting out. Keep it quiet though. I don't want to embarrass him."

"Of course, sire," Eric said sycophantically and Elsbeth nodded.

"It's all okay," Crowley said, reassuring himself. "He just needs a little time to learn his place."

* * *

 **So… I have no idea how you guys are going to feel about this one. It was crazy fun to write, to let Sam be free like this, but it's also** _ **Sam,**_ **and he's a demon which is sad. How was it to read?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	20. Chapter 19

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for all your help with this chapter. Thank you also Gredelina1 for supporting me throughout. Thank you all for reading and reviewing xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nineteen**_

Dean was deaf to Bobby and Castiel's words, lost in his agony. He only noticed them when Bobby grabbed his arm and roughly turned him.

"A deal!" he barked. "What the hell are you thinking?"

Dean shook his head slowly. "Like either of you expected anything less of me. It's Sam."

"We know," Bobby said. "We feel it, too. We're hurting, but we're not diving into a deal with a damn demon."

They didn't understand. It wasn't their job to keep Sam safe, alive, happy. They hadn't let him down like Dean had. He should have known what Sam was going to do when he left with Crowley. He knew Sam better than he knew anyone. How could he have missed the decision being made? Lucifer had needed him to keep Sam safe, and he had let them both down.

"Sam is dead," he said in a wrecked voice. "He's gone, and I am never getting him back. I'm alone. What am I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to not kill yourself!" Bobby said.

"It's not killing myself if I deal for him; it's sacrificing myself. There's a difference, even if you can't see it."

"You'll die, Dean! You will be back in the Pit!"

"So? Sam's gone. I'm already halfway there. This is already hell for me. A change in location will be no different."

"It will be!" Castiel said angrily. "Don't you remember that place? Do you not remember the stench of blood, the screams of pain, the terrified eyes of the souls, the fear of the place?"

"I remember," Dean said quietly. "I just had a reminder. Sam's room stank of blood. The fear was mine. The screams of pain were in my head. He died alone in there, and I'm sure he was more terrified of any soul I ever tortured. He was driven to that because I let him down. I cannot let him down again."

Every inch of him ached with pain. He staggered to the table and collapsed into a chair, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wanted to hurt, to offset the internal pain he felt with external, but he couldn't. There was no way to do it without plunging a knife into his heart to make it even close to equal, and that would remove his last chance of saving Sam.

"You can't do it, Dean!" Castiel said desperately. "I can't let you. I am human now. I can't save you from hell again. I couldn't save Sam, I couldn't stop him, and I will be useless to you, too." He was choked with tears. "Don't do this to me, to us. None of us can take it, least of all Sam."

"I need your help, Cas," Dean said quietly.

"I will do anything I can, but I will not let you make another deal. I can't let you. Tell me what else I can do to help, and I will do it. Tell me how to help you."

Dean closed his eyes and tried to think. It was so hard as his mind was fogged with grief and pain. He needed Sam back. To do that, he needed to make a deal. To make a deal, he needed Crowley. But Crowley was useless without Sam's body…

"I need to find Sam," he said. "If I can find him, Crowley can do it." He looked up at Castiel. "Can you help me?"

Castiel nodded. "I will help you find Sam so that we can lay him to rest, I need that, too, but I will not let you sacrifice yourself again."

Dean didn't care what his motivation was as long as he helped. He could do it alone if he was forced to, but it would be easier with their help.

"Bobby?" he asked.

Bobby nodded. "I'm with Cas. God knows I want Sam back, but I will not lose you, too. I need to lay him to rest as much as we all do. I will help you to do that, but I _will_ stop you going to Crowley again."

Dean knew they could try to stop him, they could maybe even make it complicated, but they would not succeed. As soon as he found Sam's body, he was getting him back.

"Where do we start?" Castiel asked.

"Ambrose has to have Sam. If we can find him, we can find his body. We need to talk to some demons. A heavy-hitter like Ambrose will be well-known, and they will know where we can find him."

Bobby nodded. "Better get the panic room set up if we're having company. And we need some way of getting a demon here."

"What are you thinking?" Castiel asked.

"The restraints we used on Metatron. Maybe we can make something similar for a demon."

"That could work," Castiel said.

Dean let their words rush over him. He would let them work out the details. He would have to focus on holding it together long enough to get his brother back.

* * *

Dean stood on the slatted supports of the water tower and reached up to finish painting in the last sigil of the devil's trap on the underside of the tank. He had no idea if this would work. It had once before, but that demon could have been particularly dumb. They weren't sure about the restraints, either, but they had to try them. If they didn't work, he wasn't opposed to using brute force on the demon. He'd rather not though. If a life could be saved, it would be better to exorcise. There had been so much loss already, so many people gone. Dean thought it was important that he not let another be lost.

When the trap was done, he jumped down and tossed the can of paint to Bobby. "You better hide," he said.

He wanted to lull the demon into a false sense of security by being alone. He thought it was more likely to be able to lure one into the trap if it was a woman. A man was less likely to be drawn in with charm. Not that he felt particularly charming anymore. He felt dead inside, but he would play the part for the demon. He was a Winchester; he could lie.

Bobby nodded. "We'll be close when you need us."

"Good luck," Castiel said as they walked away.

Dean watched them go, waiting until they were concealed by trees to go to the trunk of the Impala to get the box he would use to summon the demon. He took his fake ID from his wallet and tucked it in the box and then carried it back to the center point of the crossroad. He dug with his bare hands in the dirt and stones to bury it, brushing his hands down his pants as he finished and straightened.

He didn't have to wait long. He had done little more than look around before the sound of a laugh came behind him. He turned and saw a woman in a deep red dress and high black boots walking towards him. She had black hair that waved down her back, and pale skin. She would have been beautiful if not for the red eyes that matched the carefully chosen dress.

"It's Dean Winchester, right?" she asked.

Dean nodded stiffly.

"I've heard a lot about you. I thought you were usually accompanied by the tall one though."

"He's not here right now," Dean said.

I can see. Where is he?"

"He's dead," Dean said brutally.

He was hopeful. It didn't sound like the news of Sam's death had trickled down to her yet, so she should believe him when he presented himself as the grieving brother that wanted to make a deal. It was the most obvious lie for them to try, and it also made it easier for Dean. He was a grieving brother, and he did want to make a deal. The problem was that she couldn't deliver on it for him. She wouldn't know that straight away though, so it should work.

"What happened?" she asked with feigned sympathy.

"He killed himself."

"Oh, that's rough. I heard he was with Lucifer, and I'm guessing the angels being zapped home was hard on him."

"Something like that."

She walked towards him, and he backed away to the water tower.

"Don't be shy," she said. "If you are here to make a deal, and I'm guessing you are, we're going to need to get a lot closer than this. You've made a deal before. You know how this works."

Dean took another step back, guiding himself under the water tower. "Can you do it?" he asked.

"Sure I can. Whether I will or not is another matter. You're going to have to make it real good for me."

"What do you want?" Dean asked, edging back another step as she paused just outside the lines of the tower.

"We need to talk time," she said. "I hear you got a year last time. Make it sweet enough and I'll give you two."

Dean took another step back. "Is that all? It was different last time."

She tilted her head to the side. "How?" She gripped the support of the tower and took one more step forward, into the trap. "If you're talking about that whole apocalypse thing, that's…"

She trailed off as Dean lurched back out of the range of the trap. As she automatically followed, she hit the edge of the trap hard, staggering backwards.

Dean smiled grimly. "You were saying?"

"How dare you!" she snarled.

"Bobby! Cas!" he shouted.

They came running and she sneered at them. "Great. It's the dream team. What are you going to do now?"

Bobby walked into the trap and looped the noose of the restraint around her neck. Dean quickly grabbed her arm and torqued it up behind her back. She struggled, but with Castiel's assistance, they were able to get her left wrist strapped in and then her right. She was trapped and restrained.

"You will die for this," she threatened. "Crowley will kill you!"

The words seemed strange to Dean. He thought Ambrose would be the one she would threaten them with. It was a shame in a way. If Ambrose would have avenged her, they could have sent her back to the Pit to report on them and get him to come to him instead of the other way around.

"He really won't," Dean said.

He gripped the restraint at her back as Castiel climbed up to break the trap with a knife. When she was released, Dean dragged her to the car and waited as Bobby opened the trunk.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"We're going to for a drive," Dean said. "Then we're going to have a talk. You're going to be very helpful."

"I won't do a thing to help you," she said.

Dean sighed. "I was kinda expecting you to say that. It doesn't matter. I'm sure you will change your mind once we get started."

* * *

When they set up the panic room for a demon, Dean had insisted that the blood-soaked chair Metatron had been in and pool of blood on the floor was left. He wanted the demon scared, and he thought the gore of the room would do that. The only thing that would have been better was if Metatron himself was still in there, but he was gone, burned on a pyre that he hadn't deserved. They should have left him to rot somewhere.

The demon's eyes bugged when she saw the scene and she struggled harder. Dean and Castiel manhandled her into the chair though, and Bobby wrapped the ropes around her from behind. They kept her hands torqued behind her back, knowing that would make her feel more vulnerable. Only when she was strapped in place, did Dean step back and examine her.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "We're going to talk."

"I won't tell you a thing!"

"That's what the last person in that chair said, and look what happened to him. You _are_ going to change your mind."

He went to the desk where the holy water and salt were ready for him and took the demon blade out of his pocket. He set it down, exchanging it for a flask of holy water, and walked back to her.

Without looking at them, he said to Bobby and Castiel, "You can go now."

"I don't know," Bobby said. "It might be better if we're all here together."

"No," Dean said firmly. "It'll be better just the two of us."

He knew he needed to tap into a certain place within him, and he couldn't do that with them watching. Castiel had seen it before, the day he swooped into Hell with other angels at his back, to save him, and again the day he manipulated him into torturing Alastair. Dean wished he could wipe that from both their minds. Castiel had seen him at his most brutal low point. He couldn't change what had happened then, but he could change what he saw from here on out. He needed to be able to let loose.

"Please," he said, turning to look into Bobby's worried eyes. "It's easier if I'm alone."

Castiel nodded, and Dean thought he was remembering Alastair and what Dean had become then, too. "Call us if you need us." He tugged on Bobby's arm persistently until the older man followed him out.

Dean clanged the door closed after then and slid the bolts into place. He turned back to the demon and said, "Just us now."

"You think I'm afraid?" she asked.

"I know you are."

She laughed. "I suffered under Alastair and Geoffrey on the rack. You can do nothing to me."

"We have something in common," Dean said. "I was on their racks, too. And then Alastair taught me to run my own. I learned all kinds of tricks, then I got to use them all on him. I haven't caught up with Geoffrey yet, but I will."

"I've heard about your tour of Hell. It was pathetic. Earth months you served. I was there centuries."

Dean uncapped the flask and splashed holy water onto her face. Her skin hissed and smoke rose, but she didn't react other than to laugh again.

"You clearly didn't learn a thing!"

Dean stepped forward and grabbed her jaw. He dragged it down, opening her mouth, and poured in the water. She coughed and sputtered as it flowed down her throat, burning her, and Dean smiled grimly.

"How about that?"

He released her and went back to the desk to grab the salt. He tucked the blade into his pocket, a threat of what would come, and moved behind her. He trickled holy water down her back, satisfied by her hiss of pain.

As he rounded her, she stared balefully at him. "That tickled."

Dean shook his head. "This is going to end bloody for you no matter what. It's either me slicing you up or sending you home to the rack again. Either way you're going to suffer. It's really better if you tell me what you know."

"You haven't asked me anything yet," she pointed out.

"Where is Sam?" Dean asked.

She frowned. "I thought you said he was dead.

"He is. I want to know where to find his body."

She smiled wickedly. "You lost it? That's kinda careless. I always heard you took good care of your brother."

Dean yanked her mouth open again and poured in the salt. She spat it out on the floor, her face pained.

"Is that all you've got? This body has been through plenty worse. I was shot in the head one time."

Dean dropped the salt and yanked her hair to hold her in place as he run his fingers over her head. He found the rough scar behind her right ear.

Disgusted, he pushed her head away and stepped back. "Did you do that to yourself?"

He knew some demons would trash their meatsuits as soon as they took them to doom the human if they were exorcised. It was cruel and unnecessary, but natural for a demon.

"That'd be telling," she said. "It sure hurt though."

"You tipped your hand too fast," Dean said. "I was trying to do this without hurting your meatsuit, but there's no point now if its already dead. I can have a lot more fun now."

He took the demon blade from his pocket and tapped it against his palm and he looked her up and down, trying to pick a place to start.

"You haven't got it in you," she said.

Dean pressed the blade to her cheek and broke the skin, making yellow light spark around the wound. He dragged it down, cutting to the corner of her mouth.

"How's that for you?" he asked.

"It's pathetic!"

"Didn't feel pathetic to me. I enjoyed it." Dean cut down the other side of her face, creating a wide smile of matching wounds. "Let's see if I can find something else to enjoy."

He took her apart systematically, drawing small put painful wounds on over every inch of exposed skin. Eventually, she broke, hissing breaths through her teeth she asked, "What do you want from me?"

"I want to know where Sam is."

"I don't know! I told you, I didn't even know he was dead."

"Let me give you a clue, he's with Ambrose."

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb. You know who he is. He's the one trying to take Crowley down. Hell, he might even have done it by now. Where do I find him?"

"I've never even heard of him!" she wailed. "I haven't seen another demon for weeks. It's not like they visit us on the crossroads. As far as I know, Crowley is still in charge. No one has told me any different. I have no idea where to find your brother."

Dean stared into her eyes. He believed her. She was either deaf, dumb and blind, or no one had really told her different. She was no good to him.

"You just became expendable," he said.

"What are you going to do?"

In answer, Dean shoved the blade into her chest. Her head flew back as light crackled over her, and then she fell forward, leaving her held up by the ropes alone.

He was done.

* * *

Bobby and Castiel looked at him curiously as he walked through the library to the liquor cabinet. He didn't meet their eyes as he picked up a fresh bottle of whiskey, not even when Castiel asked, "Did you learn anything?"

Dean shook his head. "She knew nothing."

He carried on out of the house and onto the porch. As soon as the door closed behind him, he let out a breath and allowed himself to release the stranglehold he had on his emotions. Tears burned his eyes and he blinked them away. "Dammit," he growled.

He sat down on the steps and unscrewed the cap of the bottle. He took a deep swig, feeling the cheap alcohol burning his throat. He gasped and took another. He needed to be drunk, numb, preferably unconscious. That might get him through this a little longer.

He took another draw and thought of Sam. He winced as the image of the blood-soaked bed came to him. Sam had lain there, bleeding out, alone. It should never have reached that point. He should have been protected from that kind of pain. Dean should have done more.

He looked up at the sky. "Why?" he asked. "How could You let this happen?" He became aware that the question was not directed to the sky but to God, and it made him angry. "How could You let this happen to him? He didn't deserve it. He was good. He saved lives. Why did You let Lucifer be taken away?"

He bowed his head and wiped away the tears.

"What kind of God are You that would not stop this? Metatron was one of Yours; he was Your scribe. You should have stopped him! That's Your job!" His voice rose to a shout, and uncaring that Castiel and Bobby would hear him, he vented his rage into the air.

"They didn't deserve this! Sam and Lucifer were good. Lucifer gave it all up for the world. He went back to the Cage when Michael came for him instead of fighting; he left Sam behind. Why did You let him be taken away like this? Don't You know what it means to love? You have torn us all apart because You sat back and let it happen, and now my brother is dead! You didn't even give us a chance to fight! There was no warning!"

That was perhaps the part that angered him most. They had no chance to avert it. God had let shit be heaped on them for years, not making a move to stop it, and they had suffered. But they had also fought. They had won because they were together. They had no idea this was coming and they couldn't fight it. Lucifer had been there one moment and was then torn away the next. How was that right? How could God allow it? Surely Lucifer and Sam had done enough to be forgiven. They should have been given a chance to fight.

He realized there was another person that could have helped them. He could have warned them. Chuck. That bastard had failed.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and was on the point of dialing when it began to ring. Chuck's name was displayed on the screen and he slammed his finger on the answer button and brought it to his ear.

"Chuck!" he snapped. "Nice timing."

" _I saw you needed to talk,"_ Chuck said.

"Yeah, I need to talk. I needed to talk hours ago, days, weeks, damn months ago, but you weren't there then. Why weren't you there?"

" _I'm sorry. I didn't know what was going to happen to the angels until it was too late, and Sam has been vague to me for a while; I didn't understand what was happening at first until he… did it."_

"He's been vague, and you didn't think to call?" Dean snapped.

" _I'm sorry,"_ he said again. _"It felt like something I should leave to happen. I think it was the angels' influence. I just knew I had to stay away."_

"Fuck you and the angels! Who came for you when the Leviathans had you? Me and Sam! Who risked their lives to help you? We did! It was us that came. You owe us!"

" _I have always come before. I was with you every step of it when Lucifer had Sam. I helped you as much as I could, and you know it. I failed you this time, I know, but we owe each other, not just me you."_

"We do," Dean agreed. "God knows I appreciate what you have done for us, but we're supposed to be friends. You don't let your friends down like this. I needed you. We did." His anger bled out of him with the admission and he asked, "Is Sammy really gone? Is he definitely dead?" He couldn't help but be a little hopeful.

Chuck's sigh crackled over the line. _"He's dead, Dean. I saw it. I didn't see him clearly for a long time, but when he picked up the Blade the last time, it was perfectly clear. I saw him cut his wrists and then blink out. He's gone. I am so sorry. I never wanted it to end that way for any of you."_

Dean swallowed hard. "What do I do?" he asked plaintively. "What am I supposed to do next? Am I going to find him again? Can I save him?"

" _I don't know. I haven't seen that far. I know this though: it's not over. The story isn't finished for you. You have to keep going."_

"And if I can't?" Dean asked, his tone defeated.

" _You have to find a way somehow. You have to see it through; stay the course."_

"Thanks," Dean said in a dead voice. "That helps."

" _I'm sorry. If I could help, I would, but it…"_

Dean didn't hear the rest of his words as he lowered the phone and ended the call. He felt no better for speaking to Chuck; if anything, he felt worse. He wasn't sure he had enough life left in him to stay the course if he didn't get Sam back.

He got to his feet and walked into the service bay. There were a variety of tools hanging from nails on the wall. He grabbed a tire iron and walked back out to the cars. He picked an old Dodge and raised the iron in his hands, brandishing it like a weapon. He swung it into the windshield, creating spiderweb cracks in the glass. He swung it again and again, breaking the car in stages, venting his anger until he was spent, collapsing onto his knees and bowing his head as he cried.

He needed his brother.

* * *

 **So… We're back to the angst. Depending on your view of demon Sam's shenanigans, it might be angsty for you for a while now. We're visiting Sam again next time, and he's being a bit of a dick — which I love.**

 **Snarkymuch2 wrote a version of the demon trapping and Chuck scene. I have rewritten completely, but there might be some bleed. Credit to her.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	21. Chapter 20

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. Thank you Gredelina1 for all your help and thank you all for reading and reviewing xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty**_

Lucifer had once explained to Sam that Heaven was actually billions upon billions of personal heavens all crammed together with some areas of angel presence only. Each soul created his or her own paradise. Sam saw now that Hell was similar. There were no paradises, of course, but it wasn't an endless stream of racks and demons torturing souls the way he'd thought either. Dean hadn't explained the geography of the place while he was bleating about what he'd done there, and Sam hadn't asked.

He saw now that there were small enclaves for each doomed soul to be worked on by a demon and a holding area for them to wait until it was their turn again. That was something else Dean hadn't told him. He made it seem like it was all pain all day but, unless a soul was special, there was also a lot of sitting around in a cell, dwelling on what had happened and was coming next.

The noise was pretty much what Sam had assumed it would be: screams, howls, begging and squelchy slaps as skin was flayed. It was enough to turn one's stomach, but Sam… well, he found a certain kind of enjoyment in it. He thought maybe he'd like to take a turn with the razor, or maybe the First Blade. That would have some fantastic results, he was sure. He had an eternity to explore his options, and he wanted to experience everything.

"Dean spent forty years down here," Sam said conversationally.

"Yep," Crowley said. "Feel bad for him?"

"No. It's kinda pathetic when you compare how messed up he was when he came out with what actually happened. I know he had the guilt for coming off the rack, but seriously, that was a no-brainer. Why he didn't come off sooner is what's got me."

"Pathetic is the word," Crowley agreed seriously. "No one has ever had an easier Hell experience than him, and yet you'd think he toured 'Nam the way he carried on about it. He was offered off the rack pretty much the moment he got on it, and yet the prat waited three decades before giving in. Some of us weren't given a choice. I lasted centuries on the rack and I came off just fine. Well, a demon, but you know what I mean. I was good."

"Perfectly adjusted," Sam said, leaning against the stone wall of the long passage they were walking. "Where are you taking me, Crowley? We've been walking forever and I'm bored."

"Little further. It's worth it. I promise."

Sam sincerely doubted that, but he thought he would indulge the older demon and get whatever it was over with. It passed the time at least. He needed to find something to entertain him. He had discovered that, without needing to sleep and eat, there were too many hours in the day to fill. He got bored easily. He needed a hobby. He knew some demons amused themselves with torturing humans, but that seemed a little tacky to him. There was no challenge there, like poking a zoo animal with a stick. He needed something to stretch himself.

Crowley opened another heavy door and Sam's hair blew in a strong wind that whipped around him. He was in a seemingly endless space with no walls that he could see even with his new keener eyesight. They were on a rocky outcropping of what looked like a cliff.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice carrying over the wind to Crowley's enhanced hearing.

"Look up," Crowley instructed.

Sam obeyed and saw a small metal cage suspended by chains attached to the nothingness around it. "That's the Cage," he stated.

"Yep, what do you think?"

"I think it's bigger on the inside."

It seemed strange to him that the place that had been his home for two centuries, the open ocean, the stretching sand, the shifting continents, were able to fit into that tiny box. Lucifer, for all his faults, was actually pretty impressive when it came to illusions.

He looked up at it for a moment, trying to find some connection in himself to the place, but there was none. It was a past life, quite literally.

He walked back through the door, resisting the urge to slam it in Crowley's face.

"Well that was a great trip down memory lane," he said. "What's next? We going to Singer's place to look through old photo albums?"

Crowley closed the door behind him. "You want to do that? Because we can. They're easy enough to knock out after all. They won't have to know you were there."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll resist the urge, thanks."

Crowley's brow creased into a frown. "You know, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around this change. I mean, I remember all my human life, and I hold _some_ feelings that I had before. Like my mother; I still detest the whore."

"Your mom was a whore?" Sam asked. "That actually makes a lot of sense."

"Luckily, she buggered off pretty damn quick, and I was able to rely on my own wits to take care of myself."

"Your own wits?" Sam scoffed. "How the hell did you survive long enough to make a deal?"

Crowley ignored the question. "I had a son, too. Petulant little wart that pissed me off at every turn."

"What did you deal for?" Sam asked curiously.

"I had a need for some… additional physical attributes."

Sam snorted. "You sold your soul for a bigger dick, didn't you?"

"I see you've read my memoirs," Crowley said dryly.

Sam laughed hard. He had only been half-serious. "You must have been seriously stunted to do that."

"We can't all be Tommy Lee."

"I wouldn't know," Sam said.

"I'm aware," Crowley said grudgingly.

"Have you been spying on me in the shower, Crowley?" Sam asked.

"No, but I can see you that dress to the left."

"Well, this just got real uncomfortable real fast," Sam said, turning and walking away.

Crowley hurried after him. "Don't be like that, Sam. You know I'm only kidding. Half-kidding anyway."

"Never going to happen, Crowley."

"Because of _Lucifer_?" he sneered.

"No!" Sam said angrily. "Because of my weak stomach."

Crowley looked annoyed as he fell into step at Sam's side. What did he seriously expect though? Sam might be a little more openminded since his sojourn as Satan's other half, but he still wasn't going there with _Crowley._ He'd sooner hook up with Castiel. And wasn't that just the ultimate stomach churning thought?

"So, now that you've seen Hell, the Cage, and my Court, what do you think of my Kingdom?"

"It's not what I expected," Sam said. "I thought it would be less annoying, more eternal damnation."

"Hades is pretty special."

"I'm sure. I think I'll skip it though. I'm bored."

Crowley sighed. "Well you better find something to do to occupy yourself. I can't spend all my time entertaining you. I have Hell to run."

"Because this is _so_ entertaining. Don't worry. I'll find something to do."

Crowley slowed his steps, "You know who else needs something to occupy himself? Your brother. He's making a pest of himself taking out my crossroads demons right now. I've got plenty, of course, but arranging the replacements is a pain in the ass."

Sam ran a hand through his hair roughly. "Dean again! Seriously? At what point are you going to realize I don't give a crap about him and the rest of them? I don't care what they're doing. They could be pogo-sticking their way off a cliff for all I care."

"Good mental image. I like it," Crowley said. "Mind if I utilize it for Hell?"

"Do what you like. But my point stands. If Dean is irritating you, deal with him. Don't keep bitching to me about him."

"Does it hurt to think of them?" Crowley asked.

"No, it irritates me. Unless you want me to take them out, keep your complaints to yourself. I'm not you, Crowley. I don't have mommy issues to work out. I never had a disappointing son to moan about. I'm just me."

Though was he? It _did_ irritate him that Crowley brought Dean up at every given opportunity, but that wasn't residual feelings, it was boredom. He cared less about Dean and the others than he did about stunt demon number three in the pit. At least he had _something_ in common with a demon, even if it was just eye color. But why did it bother him so much when Crowley mentioned him, like a thorn digging into his side? It was the one weakness he had now, that annoyance, and he thought he would explore it a little.

"I don't want you to 'take them out,'" Crowley said. "You might not appreciate it right now, but you will come to see the entertainment value they possess for us."

They reached the door back into the cells and Sam yawned pointedly. "I'll leave you to your paperwork. I'm going to explore a little."

"Hell?"

"No. I've seen enough of that. I figure I'll put my new mode of transportation to use and see a little of the world."

"Good for you. Have fun. I'll see you later."

Sam waved hand in farewell and disappeared.

* * *

Sam _had_ intended to explore a little more of the world, but he found himself in that armpit of America, Sioux Falls, instead. Bobby's house was in darkness, and Sam stood outside among the junked cars. One looked like it had been gone over with a crowbar. The smashed glass twinkled and the metal work was dented and scratched. There were even spatters of blood on the paintwork. It didn't take a genius to work out that it had been Dean working out his frustration on the car.

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean was such an unstable human. He needed to work out a way to unwind that didn't involve criminal damage.

He opened the back door and stepped around the devil's trap under the mat. Really, as 'the most protected place in the country', Bobby would have done better setting up shop in a bouncy castle. It was almost funny how much comfort Sam had taken from being there before; he had felt safe.

To Bobby's credit, the panic room was pretty clever. Sam would steer well clear of that place today. He wasn't here for a visit anyway. He was exploring something in himself.

He closed the door behind him and looked into the library. Dean was asleep on the couch, lying on his back, a blanket laid over him and an almost-empty whiskey bottle beside him. That was another Winchester trait. When in doubt, drink; when upset, drink; when bored, drink; basically, when awake, drink. It was a miracle Dean's liver had withstood the abuse as long as it had. He suspected Castiel might have something to do with that. He wondered how long Dean's body would keep going now that Castiel's wings had been plucked.

He turned away from the sleeping man and walked to the fridge. There was something new there. Under a magnet was one of the photos that had been in Sam's motel room before. It was picture of him and Lucifer, frozen on glossy paper. He frowned at it. Sam and Lucifer looked as if they had been unaware of the photo being taken. They were holding hands and staring into each other's eyes like a cheesy wedding day shot. All that was missing was a rented tuxedo and a veil.

He picked it up and stared at it. He looked so happy there, in love, almost disgustingly so. How could anyone bear to be around them when they were like that without puking? He tried to remember the feeling he'd had in that moment, but he couldn't find it. It was as if it had been wiped away. He knew on an intellectual level that he had loved Lucifer, but he couldn't call to mind the feeling. It was like trying to remember your first steps or word. It had happened, but there was no recall.

He dropped the photograph on the counter and turned away, feeling almost as though he was being tainted by his efforts to remember.

He looked walked into the library, carefully steering clear of the devil's trap painted into the ceiling. As funny as it would be to see their faces if they saw him with black eyes, it would be annoying to watch them try to exorcise him.

He wondered about that. As he wasn't actually possessing anyone, would an exorcism even work? He wasn't a meatsuit with a demon inside; he actually _was_ a demon. He hoped it wouldn't because that would be a real pain in the ass. If Dean knew what he had become and managed to exorcise him, he'd have his body on the pyre like a rotisserie chicken within minutes. He could always find a new meatsuit, but he liked his body now. It had history and he could see over the heads in crowds. He could end up in a fun-size one like Crowley was. How he managed day-to-day life with that kind of limited growth, Sam didn't understand.

He stared down at Dean for a moment, just watching him sleep, then walked over to the desk and picked up a book to see what Bobby's current bedtime reading was. Unsurprisingly, it was the Daemon Dierum. That tallied with what Crowley had said about them interrogating demons. He tossed it back on the desk facedown.

"Sammy?"

He turned quickly, thinking he'd screwed up and been seen, but Dean was still sleeping. His hands were tangled in the blanket over him and his expression was twisted with sadness.

"Sammy, please," he sighed.

"Well that's not at all creepy," Sam said quietly.

Dean rolled onto his side and his eyes moved beneath their lids. Sam wondered what he was dreaming. He moved closer, unaware of what he was doing, and then froze as Dean's eyes opened. In the split second that Dean seemed to fixate on him, Sam disappeared.

He hoped that Dean would believe it was still the dream. It really was easier—not to mention more entertaining—if Dean carried on believing him dead.

* * *

Dean was suffering. He could find no peace even in his dreams, though he longed for them. At least then he would see Sam again. They weren't good dreams; he spent them searching for Sam in a maze of alleyways, only to wake at the moment he caught sight of him. That second of seeing him, though, was worth the pain that came after.

Last night had been different though. He thought he had seen Sam upon waking, too. In his dreams, Sam was dressed in jeans and an old shirt, the clothes he had been wearing the day they had gone to trap Metatron. When he'd woken, Sam had been dressed in a dark grey suit, the kind of thing regular people dressed their loved ones in before burying them. He had never seen Sam in anything like it apart from his fed suit in life. He guessed it was his mind's way of trying to ease the pain for him, showing him that Sam was gone but at peace.

He threw off the blanket that someone had draped over him when he'd fallen asleep and swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the couch. His foot nudged the whiskey bottle he had been working his way through the night before. For a moment, he considered starting with it again, getting the hit he needed, but he decided against it. He would at least pretend to be human a while longer, make it easier on Bobby and Castiel and save himself their bitching.

Carrying the bottle to the cupboard where Bobby stored his liquor among other necessities, he stowed it away and then walked to the counter to start the coffee.

"Morning, Sammy," he said, his eyes moving the photograph of him and Lucifer tacked on the fridge as they did every morning. It wasn't there though. "No!" he gasped, bending and searching the floor for it. He couldn't have lost it. Sam would want it when they got him back. He _needed_ it. It was nowhere to be seen though.

He straightened and gripped the edge of the counter as he bowed his head. Tears pricked his eyes. He was supposed to take care of it for Sam. He cursed himself for his carelessness. Then he spotted it; the rectangle of glossy paper was on the counter. He grabbed it and turned it over, seeing Lucifer's and Sam's happy faces. What was it doing there though? It belonged on the fridge under the magnet. Dean never moved it, and Castiel and Bobby wouldn't have taken it down either. Someone else had been there.

He looked around for anything else out of place. There was nothing he could see, but he knew in his heart someone else had been in the house. His breath came quickly and his heart raced. Was it Crowley coming to screw with them? It was the kind of thing he would do, but the explanation didn't feel right. There was something else.

Someone clapped a hand on his shoulder and he cried out in shock as he spun to see Bobby. Castiel was lurking in the doorway.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked.

"Someone's been here," Dean said, holding out the photograph. "This was moved in the night, I know it!"

Castiel came further into the room. "Is that the only thing?"

"Isn't it enough?" Dean asked. "We never touch it, but it was on the counter. I didn't move it."

Bobby sighed. "Dean, you were roaring drunk last night. You could have been looking at it and forgotten. When Castiel and I went up, you were unconscious on the couch."

"Then I couldn't have done it," he said practically. "I was asleep."

"You could have gotten up again," Castiel pointed out. "Do you remember anything else from last night? Going to the bathroom maybe?"

"I remember…" He bit his lip. "Nothing."

"What happened?" Castiel asked.

"Nothing!"

"Dean…" Bobby prompted.

"I saw Sam. I was dreaming of him, like I always do, but when I woke up, he was there watching me. He was dressed in this grey suit and he was just looking down at me."

"He wasn't here, Dean," Bobby said sadly.

"I know that!" Dean snapped. "But I saw him. And this moved. It has to mean something."

"It means you need rest," Castiel said. "You have been spending your days interrogating demons and your nights drinking. It's too much for your body to handle."

They didn't understand. How could he rest when Sam was out there, lost? And he couldn't sleep without drinking himself into oblivion. His situation was impossible, yes, but he wasn't losing his mind. Someone _had_ been there.

"I need a drink." He wasn't aware he had spoken the thought aloud until Bobby answered. "Let's get you something to eat first. Sit down and we'll fix something up."

Having no energy to argue, Dean sat at the table and put his head in his hands. He listened to Castiel and Bobby moving around the kitchen, talking quietly, and only looked up when Castiel set a coffee down in front of him. He sipped at it, trying to think of other candidates for their visitor. It could have been that Ambrose demon. He would probably enjoy being able to see the aftermath of his cruel theft.

Bobby put a plate in front of him and a platter of toaster waffles in the middle of the table. When he made no move to serve himself, the older hunter picked up two waffles with a fork and slapped them onto Dean's place. "Eat!" he commanded. "If we're going after another demon today, you'll need to be fueled."

Dean cut a piece and brought it to his mouth. It tasted of nothing, but knowing he did need fuel, he chewed and swallowed until the plate was clean. He picked up his coffee and stared out of the window, lost in thought. He was considering their options for a demon. They had pretty much exhausted the crossroads close to Sioux Falls. They needed to go further afield, or maybe start following the demonic omens spread across the country.

His eyes became unfocused as he looked at the junked cars. Suddenly, he straightened and sucked in a breath. He saw someone, an impossible, incredible someone outside. He lurched to his feet and ran at the door, ignoring Castiel and Bobby's worried questions. He yanked open the door and ran out onto the porch. "Sammy!"

Sam was standing by the car Dean had vented his grief on. He was wearing the suit Dean had seen in the night, and he was frowning slightly. Dean rushed down the steps towards him, his hands reaching for his brother. It was too late though. When Dean was a few paces away, close enough to see into his eyes, Sam disappeared.

"No!" His legs buckled and he fell to his knees.

He heard footsteps crossing the porch and then Bobby spoke behind him. "What happened?"

"I saw him," Dean said. "I saw Sam." He looked up into Bobby's doubtful face and cursed. "He was there. Right there!" He pointed at the spot he had been.

"I don't see anything," Bobby said.

"He's gone now, but he was there."

Bobby held out a hand and Dean allowed himself to be eased to his feet.

"You need to rest," Bobby said. "We'll stay here today so you can sleep. We've still got some of the drugs we gave Sam when he was withdrawing. They'll help you."

"I'm not crazy," he said defiantly. "I saw him."

Bobby didn't answer.

Dean was sure though. He had seen Sam, and Sam _was_ dead. That could mean only one thing. Sam's body had been stolen, but his spirit was free of it. Sam was a ghost. He just needed to prove it.

* * *

Dean was nervous. He had crept up the stairs, cursing each creak of the old house that threatened to wake them, and checked that Bobby and Castiel were snoring before he set things up, but he was still worried they'd come down and see what he was doing. He didn't think he'd be able to connect with Sam if they were there—especially Castiel. Things were so damaged between them before, that Sam might not have any desire let himself be open to him now. He was sure if Sam would come for anyone, it would be him and him alone.

They had spent the day at the house as Bobby had advised. Dean had sat out on the porch much of the morning and afternoon, watching for another sign of Sam, only coming in when the sun started to sink. Though there was no sign of him, it had strengthened his resolve to wait until they were gone before trying to communicate with him.

They seemed satisfied that he was apparently taking care of himself and not talking about Sam anymore, which worked in Dean's favor. He wasn't even that drunk by the time darkness fell. He made a show of yawning though and let his eyes drift closed often enough that Bobby decided they all needed an early night. They didn't push him to sleep in his bed, perhaps thinking to use what had been his and Sam's room was too hard. The truth was he wanted to be downstairs alone if Sam came back.

He felt a thrill of anticipation as he set the planchette down on the talking board and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and spoke to the silent room. "Sammy, are you there?"

The planchette trembled, but he thought that was his own shaking hands making it move.

"Sam, please," he begged. "Please be there."

The planchette trembled again and then shot across the board, dragging Dean's frozen fingers with it. It stopped on 'Yes' and Dean's heart leapt.

"Sam!"

It moved again, darting over the letters. Dean spoke them aloud as he read them. "D-e-a-n."

"I'm here," he whispered, tears now streaming down his cheeks. "I'm here, Sammy." He watched as the planchette moved again. He knew with the first letter what was going to be spelled. What else would Sam ask?

"L-u-c-i-f-e-r."

He sighed. "He's not here, Sam. I'm sorry, more sorry than you can know, for everything that's happened, but he's not come back."

"W-h-y."

Dean frowned. "Don't you remember what happened?"

"No."

Dean sighed. He couldn't break Sam's heart all over again. He would have to lie to protect his brother. The problem with spirits was that they became vengeful. That wouldn't happen to Sam, as Dean would get him back before it could, but he still didn't want to increase the risk Sam would step even a toe down that line.

"He'll be back soon," he lied. "I promise."

"N-e-e-d-h-i-m."

"I know," Dean said in a choked voice. "I'll get him back for you. I swear. Are you okay?"

"No."

Dean's heart leapt. "No? What's happening to you?"

"H-u-r-t-s."

"Who's hurting you?"

"H-u-r-t-s."

"Talk to me, Sam! Tell me what I can do."

The planchette trembled for a moment and then stilled. Dean kept his fingers pressed to it, hoping Sam would come back.

"Sam!"

There was nothing though. The connection he had felt was gone, and the planchette nothing more than a piece of wood. He threw it at the wall with an inarticulate sound of rage.

Tears streamed down his cheeks and he let them fall, bowing over so they splashed onto the talking board.

His brother was hurting and there was nothing he could to ease it for him, nothing but them finding his body and bringing him back. But then there was another complication. He would get Sam back just to break his heart when he found out Lucifer was gone again.

His heart aching for his brother, he wept alone.

He didn't see the amused face through the window, reveling in his suffering.

* * *

Bobby was woken by a clatter downstairs and a cry of pain. His heart sinking, he climbed out of bed and grabbed his ratty robe from the back of the door. He was more than aware that Dean might not want to be interrupted while he was feeling what he was, but he couldn't bear to leave him hurting down there alone. He tugged the robe on and padded into the hall.

Castiel was standing outside the door to his room, his expression torn. Now, without the door between then, Bobby could hear Dean crying.

"Come on," he said gruffly. "He needs us."

"Does he?" Castiel asked.

Bobby didn't have an answer to give. Dean might need them, but he probably wouldn't want them. What Dean wanted was his brother back, and that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, or at all if Bobby had his way. He hated that they had lost Sam, that grief cut him like a knife, but Dean couldn't give himself up for Sam's life again. It would ruin them both. Sam wouldn't be able to live with Dean making that sacrifice, and Dean couldn't go back to that place. There was no powered Castiel to rescue him now, no other angels they could call upon for help. Dean would be trapped there forever, and Sam would be destroyed by it, too.

He walked down the creaking stairs and went into the library. Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands and tears dripping down onto the talking board in front of him. Bobby understood what had happened at once, and he understood Dean's reaction. It was natural to want to have some connection with Sam, he felt the same need, but to indulge was damaging.

Bobby sighed his name and Dean looked up. He looked devastated, but there was a kind of fervor in his eyes that was new.

"He's here, Bobby," he said.

Castiel looked around the room. "Where?"

Dean sniffed and shook his head. "Not here _now_. But he was. I spoke to him."

Bobby walked into the kitchen and sat down beside him. "What happened, Dean?"

"I _did_ see him earlier," Dean said. "He was here, and tonight I spoke to him with the talking board. He's a ghost."

Castiel sucked in a breath from his place leaning against the counter. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" he said emphatically. "It all makes sense." When Bobby continued to frown, he said, "Don't you believe me?"

"I don't know," Bobby said honestly. "It just seems… Are you sure you're seeing what's there and not what you want to be? Hell, I want him back, too, but…"

"Why wouldn't he be a ghost?" Dean interrupted. "How many have we taken out over the years? Why wouldn't Sam be one, too? If anyone had unfinished business, it's him."

"But he killed himself," Castiel said. "He decided his business was over when he did that."

"No! He was desperate. He was grieving and he could see no way out. That's why he did that. But us, me, Lucifer, he wouldn't leave us."

"But there is no more Lucifer," Bobby said. "He told us that there was no way to get him back. He knew."

"There's still us though," he said, staring into Bobby's eyes. "He wouldn't leave us. I _have_ seen him. I spoke to him."

"What did he say?" Castiel asked.

"He told me here was there, and he asked about Lucifer, and then he said…." He shook his head. "He said he was hurting. I don't know what's happening to him; he didn't tell me. I think he wore himself out and had to rest."

"It could have been anyone though," Bobby said. "Any spirit that wanted to talk with someone could say they're Sam."

Dean shook his head vigorously. "Not asking about Lucifer. Who knows about him and Sam that's dead? No one. It was him."

It was possible, probable even, but Bobby still wasn't convinced. He needed to see it himself. "Cas, pass me the planchette, "he said.

Castiel walked to the door where it lay and brought it back to Bobby.

Dean nodded vigorously. "He'll be here. He'll come."

"You said he exhausted himself," Castiel pointed out.

"He won't let me down now," Dean said confidently.

Bobby put the planchette on the board and pressed his fingers to it. It wasn't that he didn't trust Dean not to trick him, but he wanted to feel it happening himself; he needed to feel Sam connecting with them to ease his own heartache.

With Castiel watching them carefully, Dean rested his fingers on the planchette, his expression hopeful, and said, "Sammy, are you there?"

There was no movement from the planchette other than that created by Dean's trembling fingers.

"Please, Sam. Bobby is here, too. Sammy, please, come back!"

They sat in silence, breaths coming quietly as if the sound would scare Sam away, but nothing happened. Bobby slowly pulled back his hands and said, "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "No! I'm right. He just doesn't have the energy to talk now."

"He shouldn't be here though," Castiel said. "His body isn't here to tether him."

Bobby thought that was a point, but Dean had an answer for him.

"He's tethered to something else. All his stuff is here now. It could be anything." His eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet and rushed to the fridge, snatching the photograph from under its magnet and holding it up. "It's this! It has to be. That's why it moved. What else would he tether to but a piece of his life with Lucifer?"

Bobby stood and walked to the liquor cabinet. He opened a drawer and pulled out his EMF detector. He flipped it on and held it up. There was no more than the usual flicker from the powerlines overhead. Dean held the photograph to it and looked hopeful. There was no more reaction though. It could sense nothing else.

Bobby felt disheartened, but Dean didn't look it. "He's just tired is all. It wouldn't be able to find him if he has no energy to detect." He shook his head. "I know what I saw and felt. He's out here. He's just resting right now."

Bobby thought he was just clinging to a wish though. It was like his mission to find Sam's body. He was displacing his grief with these things to stop himself having to face the truth that Sam was gone.

"He'll come back," Dean said confidently. "I know it."

Bobby couldn't bear to break his heart further, so he stayed silent.

* * *

 **So… I did warn you he was going to be a dick. Writing this chapter was polar opposites with each scene. I love to write Sam as a demon—he's so freeing—but the Dean angst is hard on me, I hope the work was worth it.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	22. Chapter 21

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredlina1 for supporting me throughout.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-One**_

When Crowley had been arranging for their new clothes, he'd had the tailor put a hexed coin in the lining of Sam's suit to keep track of him. He hadn't told Sam, and he'd not imagined he would need to use it as he thought Sam would stay at his side, be his partner in crime, but things hadn't worked out quite like that. Sam took off on his own a lot of the time, never more than since Crowley had shown him the Cage.

He wondered if that had been a step too far. Maybe Sam did have some residual feelings from his human life for Lucifer after all. He could have been upset by being reminded of what he'd once had.

Crowley was too busy catching up on his day-to-day business to explore it at first, and he didn't want to set any lesser demons on Sam's trail as he was pretty sure Sam would eviscerate them, so it was a full two weeks after their tour of Hell that he found time to track Sam down. He was stunned to learn that Sam had disappeared to Singer's Salvage Yard, especially after he'd expressed complete disinterest in the doings of his former family.

It was late at night when he arrived, and the house was mostly in darkness. The only lights burning were the porch light and a desk lamp in the library. Crowley could see well enough through the open drapes into the hovel, as could Sam, who was standing by the window.

"Sam," he said. "I wondered if I'd find you here."

Sam glanced at him. "And I wondered when you'd show up to interrupt my fun. I guess we're both disappointed."

"I _am_ disappointed," Crowley said. "I didn't think you cared about them at all anymore, so what's with the stalker act? You missing home?"

"No," Sam said slowly. "I've found myself a hobby. You said I needed to entertain myself, so that's what I've been doing."

"Watching Dean sleep is entertaining? Remind me to teach you to play Scrabble."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You think I made it through college without learning to screw with English majors by playing dirty word Scrabble? You missed that bus, Crowley. And no, I am not watching Dean sleep. He's way more fun when he's awake. Watch this." He flipped his fingers through the air and a book flew from the desk to the floor.

Dean sat up quickly, and his head turned as he looked around the room. "Sammy?"

Crowley's eyes widened, and he stared at his prodigy. "Sam, this is beautiful!" he said appreciatively.

"It's awesome," Sam agreed. "And it never gets boring. Wait till he gets the talking board out."

"Funny?"

"Hilarious," Sam said emphatically.

Dean flipped on the light and picked up the book Sam had knocked to the floor. He ran a hand over the cover slowly before he set it down and went to the cabinet on the other side of the room.

"Here we go," Sam said excitedly.

Dean pulled out a talking board and held it to his chest. He carried it to the table and Sam and Crowley adjusted themselves so that they could see clearly.

Dean set up the board and laid his fingers on the planchette. "I'm here, Sammy," he said. "Are you?"

"Duh," Sam said quietly. He traced a finger through the air and the planchette moved to the painted 'Yes'."

Dean smiled slightly. "Are you okay?"

Sam nudged the planchette to 'No' and Dean sighed shakily.

"What's the deal with that?" Crowley asked.

"He thinks someone's hurting me," Sam said idly. "I've got him all kinds of screwed up over it."

"You're really twisted," Crowley said.

"Yep," Sam said, satisfied.

Crowley was impressed. He'd dedicated a lot of time to making Sam and Dean Winchester suffer, and yet the closest he'd come to this kind of magic was tearing Sam and Satan apart, and he couldn't even claim all the credit for that as Metatron had played his part in it. But this… this was beautiful in the simplest and purest way. As if having Sam a demon wasn't enough, he now had him torturing his brother by playing on Dean's most base need to protect. He would be tying himself in knots over this, unable to do a thing to help. It was brilliant.

"It gets better," Sam said, tapping his hand through the air, spelling out the name of his old lover.

"Lucifer?" Crowley asked.

"Wait," Sam said.

"He's not here yet," Dean said.

Crowley frowned. "What the hell?"

Sam grinned. "Poor Sam doesn't remember what happened before he offed himself. He just can't understand why his boyfriend hasn't saved him yet. He thinks he doesn't love him anymore."

Crowley looked admiringly at Sam. He was a genius, pure genius. He knew exactly what would hurt his brother most, and he was using it to the fullest extent.

"But he's coming," Dean said. "I swear. I'm getting him back for you."

Crowley huffed a laugh. "How the hell does he think he's going to achieve that?"

Sam shrugged. "No idea. He says it every time though. That's the best part, see. He doesn't have a chance of getting _him_ back—thankfully—so he's setting himself up as the hero that can never deliver. That's going to tear him apart."

"Do Bobby and Castiel know about this, too?"

"No. Dean's told them he's seen me and is talking to me, but they don't believe him and I haven't tipped them off. I never 'talk' when they're around. I'm pretty sure they think he's losing his mind. I did think about letting Castiel get a glimpse, though. What do you think?"

Crowley considered. Having two of them locked into the game would be fun, but it would give Dean support, and that was the last thing they wanted. Watching him slowly becoming unraveled alone was much more fun.

"Nah. Stick with what you have. I think that's most effective. Who does he think is hurting you anyway?"

"Not a clue. I always cut off when he starts asking."

An idea struck Crowley and he rubbed his hands together. "Do me a favor; tell him it's Ambrose."

Sam laughed softly. "That's perfect."

"Exactly. They've been working their way through my demons, asking about him and what happened to your body. Obviously, none of them know a thing about Ambrose and they're all sworn to secrecy about you, but to reinforce his existence could be fun. And if Dean thinks he's the one that's torturing you, he's going to be even more motivated to keep up that wild goose chase."

"Okay," Sam said. "Give me a sec."

He tapped out some more letters and Dean's brow creased with sadness. "Help? I want to, Sammy, but I have to know where you are. I can't get you back until I do. Do you know anything about where your body is?"

Sam flipped his finger in the air and the planchette spelled out 'Ambrose'.

"He's got you?" Dean asked excitedly. "Where?"

"And I think that's a wrap," Sam said. "There's enough there to screw him up for another day. I'm pretty sure I've got him close to medicating himself now—with more than raw alcohol I mean."

"And that's what you want?" Crowley asked.

Sam shrugged. "I guess I'm not too bothered either way as long as he's suffering, but I know he'd hate it. Dean has always prided himself on his alertness and awareness, even if it was bullshit—he wasn't aware of me on demon blood for example. To lose that to drugs would be an interesting twist."

"Demon blood," Crowley said musingly.

"What about it?" Sam asked.

"Well, I heard something a while ago from Raphael when we were working on Purgatory. Did you know it was Castiel that let you out of the panic room when Heckle and Jeckle locked you down to detox?"

"No!" Sam's mouth dropped open. "That's hilarious. All that time the little asshole was harping on about how I was being corrupted by the Mark and Blade, he was the one that set me free to kill Lilith, kickstarting this whole thing in the first place. Damn. If he was an angel still, I'd kill him for the sheer hypocrisy."

"You could kill him anyway," Crowley suggested.

"Nah. Killing humans is what weak demons do because they can't pick on someone their own size. I'll leave that to the grunts. I'll find something different to challenge myself."

"Speaking of," Crowley said. "I didn't go to the trouble of tracking you down to watch you play. I have something I think might entertain you."

"Yeah?" Sam said hopefully.

"Yeah. Geoffrey has been unearthed. Would you believe the stupid shit thought he could hide from me? Anyway, he's been found and we're going to have a chat about him muscling in on other demons' entertainment. Thought you might like to have a part of it. Interested?"

"Sure. Might be fun." He turned back to the window, spelled out 'Hurts' and then he was gone. Crowley watched Dean as he frantically and tearfully tried to get an answer from Sam, and then he left, too.

* * *

Crowley had gestured for Sam to stand beside his throne, in the place of a courtier, but Sam had just rolled his eyes. He wasn't playing any part for Crowley other than the one he was still deciding on for himself, so he leaned against the pillar and watched as the demon was brought in between two others.

Geoffrey was in the meatsuit of a middle-aged man, with black hair threaded with grey and a groomed beard. Sam was used to seeing demons in younger bodies, and he wondered if this meatsuit was chosen in an attempt to look more dignified or powerful. Whatever it was, it failed. Sam thought he looked old and worn out.

The demon was wrested into place in front of the throne and released. The demons that had acted as his guards bowed respectfully to Crowley and moved to stand at the edge of the room, straight-backed and proud, among the others. Sam alone looked relaxed.

"Geoffrey, I understand you have been impinging on other demon's hunting grounds again," Crowley said. "Cyril says you took the family he'd claimed and killed one of them yourself. Do you have anything to say?"

"Yeah," Geoffrey said. "I'm sorry he's pathetic enough to trouble you about it, _sire_."

Though his words were respectful, the sneer at the end devalued them. Sam watched curiously, wondering how Crowley would react.

"I don't mind being troubled by things like this," Crowley said. "I want to promote a happy, peaceful environment for all my demons to enjoy. That means we respect each other as well as ourselves."

Sam snorted. How many _Management Skills for Dummies_ books had Crowley read? If it was down to him, he would eviscerate the demon for sheer annoyance. He didn't trouble himself to interfere though. It was Crowley's rodeo, not his. If he wanted to be a pussy, it was his choice.

Geoffrey's eyes slowly moved to Sam. "Is there something you want to say?"

"Only that, well, you're kinda pathetic, Grandpa. If you can't get your own people to kill, you should ask a younger, more able demon to help. I'm sure they wouldn't mind helping out."

Geoffrey' eyes narrowed. "Really? What's your kill count since you were upgraded?"

"Zero," Sam said. "But I'm willing to up it by one if you keep annoying me."

"You've not even killed once!" he said incredulously. "I thought the Knights were supposed to be tough. I remember Abaddon taking out an entire church congregation just because the preacher pronounced her name wrong. Can you be the first tame Knight of Hell? Are you sure you're even a demon?"

"I am a demon," Sam said, his eyes darkening. "A Knight. And you are pathetic. Killing humans is like stepping on ants. I did plenty of killing in my life, but I was never really a murderer until I started killing demons. I guess I've just been waiting to find the right demon to start again with. You volunteering?"

"Sam," Crowley said chidingly.

The hairs on Sam's arms stood up. He didn't like being treated like a child by anyone, least of all Crowley the Pathetic. He was a Knight and wasn't going to be treated like some bottom feeder.

He turned his glare on Crowley. "Yes?"

"Play nice," Crowley said.

Sam felt the urge to pull out the First Blade and show not only Crowley and Geoffrey who they were dealing with, but the court as a whole. He resisted though, knowing that to do that would be to admit a weakness in himself. He didn't need the Blade to scare them. He should be able to do that all by himself. He might not yet, but he thought he would find a way to prove himself soon.

He sneered at Crowley. "Yes, _sire._ "

Missing the obvious sarcasm, Crowley smiled satisfied, and turned back to the demon in front of him. "Now, Geoffrey, what should we do? I value you as a member of our team, but you cannot run amok on other demons. You need to find your own targets to enjoy. If Cyril has claimed Seattle as his hunting ground, you can try further afield. What about branching out of the country? There is usually entertainment to be found in Vancouver. Canadians are a riot."

Geoffrey nodded. "In that case, I claim Canada."

"You're claiming a whole country?" Crowley asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes. I want Canada."

Crowley sighed. "Fine. I'll put the word out. Canada is yours." He waved him away. "You can go. Enjoy some Poutine. I hear it's good."

Geoffrey strode from the room, his head held high and proud. Sam thought he was just missing the sweater vest to make him look like a retired banker at the golf course after getting a hole-in-one.

Crowley waved an airy hand at the other demons and said, "You may go."

They scurried out of the room and Crowley and Sam were left alone.

"Really, Sam," Crowley said. "Would it hurt you to play nice?"

"Would it hurt you to actually lead?" Sam countered.

"I _am_ leading. Just because I'm guiding rather than beating down doesn't mean I am not in control here. We can't all rule by the fist."

"You could try," Sam said. "If you were to pound that Geoffrey into hamburger, he might respect you more. As it is you've given him a country as a reward instead."

Crowley seemed to consider his words. Sam waited for a snarky comeback, but instead Crowley said, "You might be right. He is a pain in the ass."

"So why let him get away with that crap?" Sam asked.

Crowley shrugged. "Probably because he's been around longer than me. You noticed the choice of meatsuit. Geoffrey goes back to the days of Alastair's fledglings. He actually was over me on the rack a few times."

"So it's nostalgia?" Sam asked.

"Could be." He clapped his hands together. "I think I've solved a problem. You need something to entertain you during the days while Dean isn't free to be traumatized, and I need a lesson taught. How about you track him down and deliver a warning?

"Sure. Could be fun. Any idea where I'll find him?"

"Canada?" Crowley suggested.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

"No, not seriously. Give me a minute." He walked to the shelves that lined the room and pulled out a handful of scrolled maps. "America-Lite," he muttered. "Here it is." He took a map and carried it over to a table. Spreading it out, he weighed down the corners with candlesticks.

"You can track him like that?" Sam asked curiously. That was a trick he needed to learn.

"Usually, no," he said. "But when Geoffrey was brought in, I had a coin placed in his pocket. It'll track him down. I do it to all my best demons."

"Have you done it to me?" Sam asked.

"I would never disrespect you like that that," he said. "You and me are special, Sam."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Sure we are. Get me a location. I'm feeling a little pent up rage to vent."

Crowley muttered over the map and a dot of light appeared. "Here he is. Storm Crow Tavern, Vancouver. It's a known demon haunt. I figure he's giving the others his marching orders since he's taken over."

"Thanks," Sam said idly. "I'll let you know how it goes."

* * *

Sam thought his pre-demon self would have _really_ enjoyed the Storm Crow Tavern. It was packed with so many various geeky fan references and decorations that it was nerd heaven. He didn't appreciate it now though; he just saw it as a good killing ground.

Crowley had said to teach Geoffrey a lesson, and that was exactly what Sam planned to do, him along with every other demon that was even thinking of disrespecting him in future. He had a wonderful idea and was going to put it to use.

He saw Geoffrey at a table with a group of people. The Mark prickled on his arm as he looked past the meatsuits' faces to the demons beneath. There were five of them, and they were listening carefully to the story Geoffrey was telling, nodding and laughing sycophantically at each well-placed pause.

"So, Crowley gave me Canada! Do you believe it? I have the complete rights to millions. Of course I'll share with a select group of you, but when it comes to entertainment, I'm on top." He took a sip of whiskey. "And that Winchester stood there pouting like a five-year-old. He doesn't like it when his boyfriend is someone else's toady."

Sam cleared his throat from his spot by the door and all eyes at the table turned to face him. Geoffrey's satisfied smile faltered but was quickly replaced by a sneer. "Winchester."

Sam walked toward them, barging his way through the crowd at the bar and spilling drinks. Some people protested, but when Sam turned to them, his eyes black, they set their glasses down and quickly decided there was somewhere else more important for them to be.

By the time Sam reached Geoffrey's table, the bar had half-emptied as the other sheep picked up on the fear in the air. Two of the demons stood to meet them, their expressions designed to be menacing as they stepped in front of Geoffrey.

"No trouble, guys," the bartender said. "If you need to talk, take it outside."

Sam rounded on him, reaching into his jacket for the Blade as he growled, "Leave."

The man scurried around the bar and rushed out of the door, quickly followed by the remainder of the patrons.

Alone now but for the demons, Sam withdrew the Blade and used it to push aside the demons blocking his path to Geoffrey. They parted easily, and Geoffrey looked down at the Blade and then into Sam's eyes.

"It's Satan's beloved. What can I do for you?"

"You can call me Sir," Sam said. "I've discovered I like it."

Geoffrey snorted. "You really think I'd lower myself to that? Do you know who I am? Just because you've got Crowley on your side, doesn't mean you've got the rest of us."

"Sir," Sam said again.

"Never."

Sam shook his head with affected sadness. "I didn't want it to come to this." He drew back his arm and shoved the blade through the chest of the closest demon. Her head flew back as yellow light flashed over her. When Sam withdrew the blade, she thumped to the floor. The other demons leapt to their feet, eyes darting between their fallen friend and the Blade.

"You can go," Sam said in a bored tone, marking each face to be remembered later.

They disappeared, and Geoffrey got to his feet.

"Not you," Sam said, pressing the tip of the blade to his throat. "You and I are going to talk."

Geoffrey sneered. "So, tell me, is sleeping with Crowley a step up from Lucifer?"

Sam felt a surge of annoyance. First Crowley, then Geoffrey. In what kind of world was that even a possibility? "Crowley and I have a strictly working relationship," Sam said.

"I bet it is hard work, mounting that gnome while holding onto your lunch."

Sam pressed the Blade a little deeper into his throat, breaking the skin and making yellow light crackle around the small wound.

"You should be more respectful."

"Because he's king?" he asked sardonically.

"No, because you're talking to me."

Geoffrey laughed, incensing Sam. "You're nothing, Winchester. You're not even a real demon. You haven't earned the black eyes. You've not spent a day on the rack."

"True," Sam said. "I'm thinking of taking a turn over it though. Got any tips?"

"Yeah, grow some balls first. You're pathetic."

Sam smiled and nodded. "You might be right. I'll have to try harder."

The windows were suddenly lit with rolling red and blue lights and the air filled with sirens.

Sam sighed. "Looks like we're all out of time; the Mounties are here. Shame, I would have liked to talk a little longer. I really think you'd come around to the 'Sir' thing with the right motivation."

"We can take it somewhere else?" Geoffrey suggested. "Or just break their necks."

"We could," Sam said thoughtfully. "Or we could just do this." He pulled back the blade and with a well-aimed swing, he cut off the demon's head. The two pieces hit the ground as Sam heard footsteps coming to the door. He bent and picked up the head by the hair and grabbed an ankle of the corpse, gripping both tightly as he disappeared just before the door flew open.

* * *

Crowley was humming to himself as he walked to the throne room. He was feeling good about the world. Sam was taking care of Geoffrey, proving that he was actually obedient and going to be more than entertainment after all, and he had just enjoyed a magnificent massage. All in all, he was a happy king.

He threw open the doors of the court and stopped dead in his tracks. There was something on his throne, something round, wrapped in bloody cloths.

"If it's a severed head, I'm going to be very upset," he said to the apparently empty room.

He walked forward and unwrapped the bundle of cloth around it, sighing when he saw what was inside. It was Geoffrey's head. Its eyes darted around the room and blood dripped from it onto Crowley's throne.

"I'm very upset." Crowley grabbed it by the hair and held it up. The disconcerting eyes stared into his own. "What did you do to piss him off this time?" he asked.

The demon couldn't answer, seeing as his vocal cords had been left behind with the rest of the body. He looked afraid though as he stared at Crowley.

"Do you know where the rest of you is?" he asked. "Blink once for no, twice for yes?"

The demon's eyes fluttered uselessly.

"Well, that helps," he said sarcastically, dropping the head to the floor and kicking it away. He brushed his hands against his pants and went to sit, brushing away the wrappings, and then he noticed the concealed coin on the seat. It was sitting on a yellow Post-it note. Crowley picked it up and read the missive. _"Nice try, Crowley."_

There was no question of who had left it, as Crowley recognized the coin that he'd had placed in the lining of Sam's jacket and the handwriting from the suicide note.

"Bugger," he said to the empty room and thought he heard an amused chuckle in return.

"Sam?" he asked.

Sam stepped out from the corner of the room. "Crowley."

"I see you've been busy. Where's the rest of him?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I really would," Crowley said, looking into the roving eyes of the head on the stone floor.

"Afraid I can't tell you," Sam said. "Suffice to say I've put him to work."

"What kind of work is possible for a headless demon?"

Sam smiled smugly. "There's a lot of crows in Sioux Falls, have you noticed? The crops need protecting."

"You made him into a scarecrow?"

"Yep. It's about time a demon did something useful, don't you think? He turned and walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Crowley asked.

"I'm have an appointment to do something useful," Sam said.

"What? Where?

Sam turned with his hand on the door. "I'm going to Hell." He winked and walked out, letting the swing closed behind him.

Crowley waited until the footsteps had retreated then he kicked Geoffrey' head again. "Bollocks!"

* * *

 **So… I think Geoffrey was a good start to unleashing Sam's murderous side. We'll be revisiting that side of him a lot in future chapters.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	23. Chapter 22

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

 **I figured we could celebrate the Season 14 news with an early update. I hope you enjoy xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Two**_

Sam learned early on that using the First Blade on the souls was so easy it was pretty much cheating. It was a shame, as he really enjoying putting the Blade to use, but he quickly forewent it and moved onto a razor. In fact, he used Alastair's own razor. It had been kept by the demons that presided over the racks like some unholy grail, and Sam quickly claimed it and set it to its purpose. The thought that he was using the same razor that had broken his brother occurred to him early on, and it gave him a certain sense of enjoyment that he was wielding it now. It made the connection deeper.

His other realization on the rack was that he was impetuous. He went for the easy hurt too quickly, removing the heart and wasting his opportunity to really cause pain. As soon as the heart was gone, the souls were useless. They were taken back to their cells to await the next day's adventures. He had to learn to take his time and break them apart piece by piece to get the fullest enjoyment from it. He learned to tease skin away from flesh slowly—to do it all in one strip like an apple. He learned that taking the eyes out early guaranteed a more satisfying result as, when they couldn't see what was coming, the souls were even more afraid. He knew from other demons that anticipation was almost as good as the actual pain. He would run the tip of the razor over them from top to toe, not cutting until they were quivering messes, never knowing when the strike would come. Fingers were a nice place to start, as they were so sensitive, as were lips. It was an artform really.

Sam was good at it. Even after only a year of Hell time, other demons started to come to him for advice. He would sometimes give it. It very much depended on his mood and whim, and whether they remembered to call him sir. Most of them did. He had heard himself referred to as 'The Boss' too, but he preferred sir. It had more dignity, a little more formality.

He supposed an aptitude for torture must run in the Winchester family, since Dean had apparently had something of a talent for it, too. He doubted Dean had enjoyed it as much him though. Torture made him feel peace such as he hadn't felt in a long time. In fact, from all the angsting Dean did about it, he probably didn't appreciate the artform that it was at all.

Sam still made time for Dean while he was working over the rack. Years could pass in Hell and be only days for Dean, so he made the trip to Sioux Falls every year or so. The days he missed seemed to make things even harder on Dean, as he had no idea what was happening to Sam or if he'd even come back while he wasn't there, talking to him. It was even more fun that way.

He had other important things to be done, too. He was searching for the demons that had been at the bar with Geoffrey. Or at least he was having other demons searching for them. He didn't have their names, but other demons knew who was Canada based and who was most likely to play nice with Geoffrey.

He was over the rack, working on an elderly man that was his latest project. The eyes were gone, and he was working on the lips when a throat was cleared behind him.

Annoyed at the interruption, he waited until both lips were removed and on the floor along with the eyes before turning.

"Ah, Matthew," he said.

"Actually, Sir, it's… No, Matthew it is. Absolutely. I can be whatever you want me to be."

"That was a wonderfully hookerish thing to say," Sam said. "Now, why are you interrupting me while I'm relaxing?"

"Well, Sir, it's just that we have found Charles and Elizabeth—two of the demons we believe were with Geoffrey. They are in a place called Lincoln, in Nebraska. I understand they have taken up residence in a pair of middle-aged Baptists."

"They switched meatsuits," Sam said thoughtfully. "Did they think that would throw me off?"

"I'm not sure, Sir."

"I wasn't talking to you, Matthew," Sam said.

"Of course not. Sorry, Sir."

Sam sighed. This demon just didn't know when to shut up. "I'll finish up here then I'll go deal with them."

"Very good, Sir."

" _Still_ not talking to you, Matthew," he said tiredly. "Now go pester someone else. I need a little me time."

The demon scurried away, and Sam turned back to the rack. He lifted the blade and said, "Now, where were we?"

The soul whimpered, and Sam smiled. Some subject participation was always good.

* * *

The place they'd chosen to hide from Sam was an apartment building in a rough area of town, bracketed by fetid alleyways, an adult bookstore and a tacky looking bar. He felt the Mark prickle from outside the building and knew he had found the right place. He wondered whether the Baptists were already living there or if the demons had moved them in after taking the bodies.

He broke open the door and walked inside. The elevator was broken; the doors were jammed open, and it smelled like someone had used it as a restroom recently. Sam walked up the stairs to the second floor, feeling the prickle growing stronger as he approached two doors at the end of the hall. He couldn't tell which of the doors facing each other it would be, so he knocked on one, calling, "Pizza delivery."

There was the sound of multiple bolts disengaging and then a woman peered around the cracked open door. She was younger than Sam and there was a harried air about her. She looked startled when she saw Sam in his suit. "I didn't order any pizza," she said a little nervously.

"My mistake," Sam said smoothly.

She looked Sam up and down. "Where is the pizza?"

Sam clapped a hand to his forehead. "I must have forgotten it."

"You don't look like you deliver pizza."

"It's a new, upscale establishment. Delivery with a little class."

"I don't believe you."

Sam rolled his eyes. "And now you want to call the cops?" He knew from her expression that he was right. "Do yourself a favor. Turn up the TV, ignore anything you hear from here on out, and don't move from here till morning. Oh, and stay the hell away from the phone. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded.

"Good," Sam said, flashing his eyes black. "Because I'd hate to need to come back to kill you."

She staggered back a step, her hand coming to rest over her heart.

"Make sure that TV is nice and loud," Sam said. She slammed the door and Sam laughed. "Nice talking with you."

He turned to the next door and as he raised his hand to knock, he felt the Mark prickle harder. He was in the right place. Knowing he was there, he didn't bother to knock. He broke the lock with a punch and walked inside.

The two demons were the ones he was searching for. He could see through the aged faces they'd taken to the rotting cores beneath. They were sitting frozen on the couch in the living room, the TV playing a comedy horror movie. As Sam walked into the room, the woman stood and took a step toward him.

"There's no need to get up. Really." He pulled the Blade from his jacket and pointed it at the couch. "Sit."

The woman backed away, falling onto the couch as her knees hit the edge.

"Now," Sam said. "We're going to talk. You're not going to even try to leave without my permission. If you do, I promise you will suffer so much more the next time I find you. You're going to keep your seats and wait for punishment like good little demons."

The man nodded but the woman brazened it out. "Do you think we're afraid of you?"

"Maybe not yet," Sam said. "You've been topside a while, and I guess that means you've been out of the loop. Not a problem. Give us a minute and we'll be better acquainted. Then I promise you, you will be afraid of me. First things first, I would like you to call me Sir."

"Never," she vowed.

"Elizabeth, it is Elizabeth, right?" he asked, and she nodded. "Well, Elizabeth, Geoffrey also said never, and I responded by chopping his head off. It's currently sitting in Crowley's throne room, looking around at all the people he thought himself so superior to. I enjoyed that, but since then I have been training. I am now much more imaginative than ever before. I don't like to brag, but I've heard people say Alastair could learn a thing or two from me."

The man, Charles, looked afraid, but the woman still did not seem convinced. Sam thought he would start with her. He lifted the blade to her throat and said, "I usually use a razor for this, it's more precise you see, but I think for you I will have a go at slicing your lips off with this. I might get it wrong, take off half your face instead, but what the hell, practice makes perfect."

The woman stared balefully at him and he shrugged. She might not respect him yet, but she would before he was done.

Sam cut into her upper lip and slowly peeled it away from the flesh.

"Here we go…"

* * *

Sam enjoyed himself for the next hour. Each wince and jolt was delicious. He cut off the screams early on by severing her larynx. He liked the screams himself, but he didn't want to be interrupted by the cops and he'd only scared one of the neighbors into elective muteness. Any of the others could call them and invariably interrupt his fun.

He _could_ have let them come, but he didn't want to kill humans. He prided himself on being above that, even if they were annoying. Besides, they'd come with guns and surely shoot at him and he didn't want his nice suit ruined with bullet holes. Blood could be washed away by a helpful lesser demon, but there was no repairing holes like that. He supposed at some point he should get a spare made, but he thought the quality of the fitting might be hindered since he had broken the tailor's hand. He'd ask Crowley if there was anyone else as good as the tailor in London.

He had basically flayed Charlotte, and was coming to the crescendo. It was his favorite part to do to the souls, too, removing the heart and placing it into their own hand. He wondered if it would be different to do it to a demon. She wouldn't be killed by it; the killing blow would come from the Blade. Would it still beat when it was removed? He hoped so. It would be fun to see.

"We're almost done," he said to Charles. "Then I'll get to you."

Charles whimpered. "Thank you, Sir."

It wasn't strictly true. Sam was going to let him live to tell of what he had witnessed for a while. He wanted the story to be shared, cementing his reputation as a true Knight of Hell. He would let him think that his time was coming though, just for amusement.

He cut carefully down Charlotte's chest, parting flesh and muscle, and then reached inside for the beating heart. He clenched it in his fingers, satisfied as it pulsed against his palm.

"Here you go Charlotte," he said, placing it in her hand. "You hold your own heart in your hands. Doesn't it feel empowering?"

Her lipless mouth opened in a silent scream and Sam stabbed her in the throat with the Blade, cutting through to bone. The yellow light crackled over her and she stilled.

Charles watched with horror and Sam turned his attention to him. "You know what comes next, right?"

Charles nodded tremulously. "Yes, Sir. It's my turn."

"It should be your turn," Sam said. "But I'm feeling benevolent today. I am going to let you go on the proviso that you dedicate the rest of your existence to making sure people know what happened here and how I spared you for calling me Sir. Spread the story far and wide, and I will not come for you again. Slack off for even one day, and I will come. I want this story to be told so many times people get bored of hearing and fearing it, understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good, now go."

Charlies stood, bowed shakily to Sam, and disappeared.

Sam looked down at the corpse in front of him. It was a mess, and the carpet and couch were ruined. He thought he should take care of it.

He walked into the bathroom, washed his hands and then the Blade under the faucet then went back into the living room. There was a skill he'd been told by Crowley that he might have, and he'd been wanting to test it out. He thought now was as good a time as any. He concentrated on what he wanted and flicked his fingers at the corpse. It burst into flame.

"Huh, that was cool."

He flicked his fingers at the drapes and carpet and fire spread quickly. Nodding his satisfaction, he walked out of the apartment and down the stairs. When he got outside, the fire alarm began blaring and a window above flew open. A woman stuck her head out and shrieked about her children. Sam looked up at her and sighed. It was the woman he'd spoken to earlier. She seemed to recognize him as she backed inside again.

Figuring that letting them burn alive was as pathetic as killing them directly, Sam took a phone from his pocket and dialed.

" _911, what is your emergency."_

"There's a fire in an apartment building," Sam said. "I think there's people trapped inside."

" _What is your address, sir?"_

"How do I know? I don't live here," Sam tutted. "Hang on." He checked the address on the name plate by the door. "It's 1340 Parkway. Somewhere in Lincoln. I'm not sure where. You probably should hurry."

" _What is your name, sir?"_

"My name? Oh, my name is…" He ended the call and tucked the phone back into his pocket.

He was almost halfway down the street, making his way through the crowd forming around the apartment building, when he heard the rumble of a familiar engine. He turned back in time to see the Impala slam to a halt and Dean, Bobby and Castiel fly out.

There was a moment in which Dean seemed to see him, his mouth dropped open, but Sam turned and walked away, and he heard Bobby barking Dean's name.

It would be easy to leave now, to go and let Dean think it was just another appearance of his ghost, but he thought he had a better idea. A more entertaining idea. It was time to take the next step with Dean.

He ducked into an alley and smiled. "Showtime."

* * *

 **So… Sam had a little fun with some demons. He started a fire and now he's preparing to traumatize Dean. Good times… for him at least. Some big stuff happening in the next couple chapters.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	24. Chapter 23

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredelina1 for supporting the story. Thank you all for reading xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Three**_

Dean was sitting at the table, staring out of the window and thinking hard. Sam hadn't come in the night. He wondered if he was just too tired or if something had happened to him. He was waiting for night to fall again in hopes that Sam would come back. He only ever came at night, never when Bobby and Castiel were there, and Dean wondered if he was scared of them somehow. Maybe he knew about their doubt and that kept him away. Did he know Dean was the only one he could ever truly trust?

"Dean!" Bobby barked. "Are you even listening?"

"What?" Dean shook his head and forced himself to focus on the older hunter.

Bobby shook the newspaper in his hands and said, "I was telling you that a body has been found."

"Sam?" Dean asked hopefully, his heart jumping in his chest.

"No. They've identified it as a man that went missing. In the late sixties," he added pointedly. "They took fingerprints from him when he was arrested for a suspected murder. He disappeared from custody when being moved to prison though. They always believed he was part of the mafia and was busted by his family."

"And now he's shown up?" Dean asked in a bored voice.

"Yes. As a scarecrow in the field across the road. You remember we saw the Sheriff buzzing around? That's why."

Dean's interest was piqued. "It was in a scarecrow?"

"Not in a scarecrow," Bobby correct. "It _was_ the scarecrow. Apparently, the farmer noticed a swarm of flies and he found the body bulked out with straw and dressed in the old clothes he'd put on his real scarecrow. Want to hear the really screwy part?"

"What's screwier than disguising a dead body as a scarecrow?" Dean asked.

"It still had a straw head. The body had been decapitated and the head was missing."

"That's messed up," Dean said.

"I agree," Castiel said. "It's is very dark, though quite imaginative."

"It's not art, Cas," Bobby said. "We had a headless corpse looking at us from across the street."

"Technically not. If there was no head, it was unable to look anywhere."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

Dean pushed up on his knees and walked toward the hall.

"Where are you going?" Castiel asked.

"To talk to our guest," Dean said.

"We agreed we would leave him to sit until afternoon," Bobby said.

"I changed my mind."

They had brought in the demon the day before and had spent some time questioning him, but he wasn't going to be an easy break. Dean was convinced he knew something though, and so when Bobby suggested they leave him alone a while to stew he'd agreed. He needed a distraction now though. There were still hours to go until dark, and he wanted something to do to take his mind off of waiting for Sam.

Sam's visits were both a blessing and a curse. He longed for the time he was there, as it made him feel connected to him, but at the same time he hated that Sam told him of his hurt every time. Sometimes he begged for Dean's help, and he would help him, he'd do anything, if only he knew where he was. If he could just find Sam's body, he could make a deal with Crowley and get him back. They would be together again, even if only for a short time.

He stomped down the steps, unbolted the door and walked into the panic room. The chair the demon sat on was still painted with Metatron's blood; Dean had insisted that it wasn't exchanged or cleaned as he believed it scared the demons to imagine what was coming for them when they saw it for the first time.

Dean picked up the demon blade from the table where he kept his tools and walked toward the bound demon. "Feeling chatty yet?" he asked.

The demon shook his head. "I have nothing to say."

"Damn," Dean said. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this." He pressed the tip of the blade to the demon's throat.

The demon swallowed hard. "You won't hurt me. It's your brother that does that. We all heard what he did to the others."

"If you know about Sam, you know about me, too. You know I apprenticed under Alastair, and I learned all kinds of things from him."

"Alastair," he scoffed. "He's nothing compared to The Boss."

"Ambrose?" Dean asked.

"Who?"

"Ambrose, the one gunning for Crowley's crown."

"I don't know his name," the demon said. "I've never met him. I just know he's damn scary. He's spent years over the rack. They say he's an artist with a razor."

"So was I," Dean said idly. He walked out of the panic room and called from the bottom of the stairs. "Bobby! Cas! Come listen to this."

He went back to the demon and waited for them to come in.

"What's happening?" Bobby asked.

Dean fixed his eyes on the demon. "Tell them what you told me."

The demon sighed heavily. "There's a new player in Hell. They call him The Boss. To his face, they call him Sir."

"Ambrose?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know his name, I think only Crowley's inner sanctum does, but he's dangerous. I heard he even took Geoffrey out for refusing to call him Sir."

Dean felt his face drain of color. Geoffrey had been one of Alastair's cronies. He had been almost as skilled with the blade as Alastair himself. Dean had been on his rack a few times, and though that had been better than being under the white-eyed demon's razor, it had still given the word Hell a new meaning. He had been a master of the craft. He'd been old and powerful.

He felt someone's hand on his back and he realized he was unsteady. He drew a breath and closed his eyes a moment to marshal himself.

"I see you know the name," the demon said, satisfaction dripping from every word. "Good for you. That'll mean you know just how dangerous The Boss is."

"Dean?" Bobby prompted.

"Geoffrey was one of Alastair's first apprentices," Dean said. "He was a torturer, too, almost as good as Alastair himself. He was old and evil. If this 'Boss' has killed him, he has serious power."

"Yep," the demon said. "The rest of us steer well clear. He's going after some demons that pissed him off at the moment. Pretty sure he's going all out on them. Word is, even Crowley can't control him."

"Sounds like a real prince," Bobby said.

The demon nodded. "Huh, that might be next, yeah. That or king. Who knows?"

"Sounds like Ambrose," Dean said thoughtfully. "Where do I find him?"

"What?" Bobby raised his hands. "Did you hear what he just said? He is next in line to the throne! We do not want to tangle with him!"

"I do," Dean said.

Bobby grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the door. Dean allowed himself to be led out and he closed the door behind him when Castiel was with them.

"Dean," Bobby said harshly. "You do not want to do this! This demon is dangerous. We don't even know if the knife would work on him. It didn't on Alastair. We could be going in just to be massacred on a hunch."

Did he really think Dean didn't know this? He was more than aware of the danger, but it was the danger that made it even more likely that this was the demon they needed to finally find Sam and get him back. With every nighttime visit, it became more and more clear to Dean that Sam needed to be saved more than he ever had before. He needed his brother's help, and Dean would deliver.

"It'll get Sam back," Dean said.

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but Bobby held up a hand to him, cutting off his words.

"Dean, I'm sorry, but it's not going to work," he said sadly. "I want Sam back, too, but he's gone. He's dead."

"I know that!" Dean snapped. "He's dead _now_ , but he doesn't have to stay that way. If I can just get his body, Crowley can bring him back."

"No!" Bobby said. "We can't. I know you want him back, we all do, but we have to let it go this time. You cannot make a deal. You can't do that to either of you. Sam will never recover from that sacrifice again and you will be trapped there forever. Think what happened to Sam after you died last time—the anger and guilt and grief ate him up and he turned to demon blood. That Ruby got her claws into him and almost destroyed him. He doesn't have Lucifer anymore, and he was already nearly ruined before by that loss. You making a deal will tip him over the edge. You can't do that to him."

"I have to."

"No, you don't. What exactly do you think you'll be bringing him back to? You make a deal, best case scenario, you get ten years. Worst, you get what your daddy got and have a few hours with him. There's no Lucifer to cushion it for him. Sam made his choice the moment he turned the Blade on himself. He's at peace now. Hell, he might even be with Lucifer already. Tearing him away from that is just cruel."

"He isn't at peace though! He's being hurt by this Ambrose. He told me. I can't leave him to that."

"He didn't tell you though," Castiel said. "He's gone."

"No, he's a ghost. I know you don't believe it because you haven't seen it, but I know what I am seeing and feeling. Sam is with me!" He pulled the photograph from his pocket and held it in Castiel's face. "This is keeping him here!"

"It isn't though," Castiel said.

"You really believe that?" Dean asked. "Then burn it." He reached into his other pocket and pulled out his zippo. "If you think this is just a picture, burn it. If Sam's not a ghost, it won't matter."

Castiel took the picture and lighter, and Dean held his breath, hoping was he right that Castiel wouldn't do it. Castiel flipped open the lighter and then closed it again.

"I can't," he admitted.

"Because you know I'm right," Dean said, satisfied.

"No, because I cannot do that to you while you believe."

Dean shook his head. "You know what, you're full of crap, Castiel. You say you miss Sam, that it's gnawing at you or whatever, but you don't have a clue. If you did, if either of you did, you would believe me. You would want Sam back, whatever the cost, because you would need him."

"I do miss Sam," Castiel said angrily. "I care. I care for him so much that I will not help you to sacrifice yourself to bring him back to a world that he could never tolerate. How long do you truly think he would last if you did it? He killed himself when all hope was lost for Lucifer. Without you there is no hope for him at all. He would kill himself again, or worse."

"What could possibly be worse?" Dean asked.

"He could live instead. He could force himself to go on second by second, minute by minute, for you, and never know a moment's happiness again. You have to let him go."

Dean closed his eyes, forced away the words and summoned patience. "I can't."

He drew back the bolt on the panic room door and walked inside. Fixing his eyes on the demon he said, "Where do I find The Boss?"

* * *

Bobby knew this was a bad idea, they were probably going to their deaths, and yet he went anyway, because there was the slimmest chance his presence would save Dean's life.

He had been a hunter most of his life, and he had always wanted to go out on the job, saving someone. Doing it saving his remaining son's life seemed a good exchange for his own.

Despite knowing Castiel would walk into a burning building to save Dean, Bobby tried to talk him out of coming along. Castiel wasn't a hunter. He had more knowledge than Dean and Bobby put together, but that was as an angel. He wasn't an angel anymore. He was human, and he hadn't been on an active hunt since he had lost his grace. He was going to be killed, Bobby was sure. That didn't stop Castiel coming though. He was sitting in the back of the Impala, his hands clenched on his lap.

Part of Bobby wanted to hate Dean for what he was doing, risking his family on a pointless mission, but he couldn't. Dean was his boy, and he was doing this for his other boy, Sam. The Winchesters knew no limits when it came to saving each other. If only there really was a way to save Sam from more than just death.

They only had a vague location for the demon they were searching for, a street in a rough district of Lincoln. Bobby directed them to the street and Dean turned a corner. They saw the impending disaster at once. Dean slammed the car to a halt and they climbed out. There was an apartment block halfway down the street, and it was on fire. People were gathered around the door and others were streaming out, but there was a window open on the second floor and a woman was hanging out of it, wailing about being trapped.

Bobby followed Dean to the door, Castiel behind him, pushing through the people, and then slammed into the back of him as Dean froze. "Dean!" he snapped. "What are you doing?"

"I saw Sammy," he said vaguely.

Bobby's eyes followed his gaze and saw through the crowd a man walking away from them. He was tall and his hair long. Sam?

Bobby quickly shook of the thought and said, "Not now!"

He pushed Dean toward the door, and the people streaming out cleared a path for them. Some people behind them shouted warnings, but Bobby ignored them. They got to the stairs and Bobby was relieved to see that the stairs were now mostly clear. They ran up them and into the concrete floored hallway. Most of the doors were open, enabling the fire to lick through the hall into the apartments. There was one door closed though, and Bobby raced toward it, holding his hand over his face to try to block some of the smoke.

Dean slammed his hand against the door, shouting for someone to open up. The door opened and a terrified woman appeared. "Help me!" she begged.

Dean and Bobby rushed inside, hearing the wails of children in one of the rooms. The fire hadn't reached the apartment yet, but the smoke was quickly drifting in.

Bobby rushed into the room where the children were crying, and he saw a toddler in a crib, standing and holding the sides, his face red and strained with his wails. There was a little girl standing by the window, obviously terrified.

"It's okay," he said. "You're going to be fine."

Dean grabbed the child from the crib and wrapped a blanket around him, covering his face. He thrust him into Castiel's arms and barked, "Get him out! Stay as low as you can!"

Castiel took the child and held his face into his neck as he ran from the room.

Bobby grabbed another blanket and wrapped it around the little girl. "This is going to be scary, but you can be brave, right?" he said. "My friend is going to get you out, but you need to hold your breath. Can you do that?"

She nodded, tears streaking her face.

"Dean! Take her!"

Dean grabbed the girl into his arms and ran from the room with her head bobbing and her mouth pressed firmly closed.

Bobby turned to the woman that was standing in the doorway, her face set with horror.

"Come on," Bobby said. "Cover your mouth and hold onto me."

"I can't," she wailed. "The black-eyed man said I have to stay."

Black-eyed man? Bobby felt sickened. Had a demon set this fire and told the woman to stay and die? With her children!

"The black-eyed man is never coming back," he said. "You can leave now."

The words didn't seem to penetrate her fear. Bobby grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

"If you stay in here, you'll die. You have to leave now. You're a mother! Think of your children!"

Her eyes bugged. "Haley! Andrew!"

"Exactly! They're already out. Now come with me."

He grabbed her hand and led her to the door. "Hold your breath as long as you can, cover your mouth with your sleeve, and stay low!"

"Yes!"

He led her back into the hall with its rolling smoke. He bent double and took her to the stairs, trying desperately to breathe as little as he could. The air freshened when they got to the first floor and Bobby hurried his steps out of the open door. As they appeared, the woman clinging to his hand still, the crowd around the door cheered them.

Bobby's eyes darted around, looking for Dean and Castiel. They were standing to the side, still holding the children in their arms. He led the shocked woman to them and she grabbed the little boy from Castiel and curled over her daughter, crying and pressing kisses to her children's faces.

Sirens filled the air and an ambulance and fire engine roared up to the sidewalk.

"Over here!" Bobby shouted to the EMTs. "There's children!"

The EMT's came to them and one of them extricated the little girl from Dean and her mother and carried her to the ambulance. Another led the woman by a hand on her back to the ambulance, her little boy still in her arms.

Bobby turned to check Dean and Castiel over. Their eyes were bloodshot and there were smudges of soot on their faces, but they seemed otherwise okay.

"Either of you need to be checked out?" he asked.

"No," Castiel said. "I'm okay."

"Dean?"

Dean wasn't looking at him though. He was staring down the street.

"Dean!" He shook his shoulder as a trashcan rolled out of the mouth of an alley.

"Someone's there," Dean said distractedly. "I need to see."

Seemingly in a daze, Dean walked away to the alley. Bobby and Castiel followed him. Bobby wasn't sure whether Dean was in shock or caught up in a lie of Sam again, but he knew he had to stay with him.

Dean stopped dead in mouth of the alley, his face slack. Bobby hurried up beside him and saw the dark shape at the end of the alley. As he tried to squint into the darkness to see who it was, the shape came forward a step.

Bobby sucked in a shocked breath at the impossible sight.

It was Sam.

* * *

 **So… A little information gained, a few lives saved, now it's time for some heartbreak. To quote Leviathan!Cas — "This is going to be so much fun."**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	25. Chapter 24

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing. Thank you Gredelina1 for supporting and encouraging.**

 **I am updating early as I know the last chapter was left on a cruel cliffhanger and some of you have told me how much you're looking forward to this moment. Here goes the reunion…**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Four**_

Dean stared in shock at his brother. He seemed so present, much more than he had in the yard or when Dean had seen him in the night that one time. He seemed real.

"Dear God," Bobby breathed. "You were right."

Dean felt a surge of something like relief. In the deepest, darkest part of him, he had been afraid that he might be losing his mind after all. But Sam _was_ here, and Bobby saw him, and as Castiel skidded to a halt on his other side with a gasp, Dean knew he did, too.

"Sammy?" Dean said hopefully.

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and took another step forward. He was wearing the grey suit again; it was unlike any suit Dean had seen him in before.

He looked from face to face, his eyes finally resting on Dean and staring at him with such pleading need that Dean felt a lump form in his throat.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said.

Dean smiled at his brother, his eyes burning.

"Good to see you, boy," Bobby said.

Sam nodded. "You too."

Dean took a step forward, his hand raised. Though he knew he couldn't touch Sam, he couldn't control the need to try. Sam backed away though, looking scared, and Dean froze. "Sorry," he whispered.

Sam looked uncertain as his eyes darted between them.

"We're not going to hurt you, boy," Bobby said in a softer tone than Dean was accustomed to hearing from him.

"We won't," Dean said. "You're safe with us, Sam. You're okay."

Suddenly, Sam's face transformed. His eyes widened and his lips curved into a wide smile. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You're right, I'm okay. In fact, you have _no_ idea just how okay I really am!"

Completely taken off guard by the change, Dean frowned. "What?"

Sam laughed harshly. "I am awesome in fact. Best self ever. I am having the greatest time!"

"Sam?" Bobby said blankly.

"Bobby," Sam said seriously. "Is there something you need?"

"Yeah, you could stop acting like an ass. That would be a good start."

Sam snorted. "Me, an ass? Coming from you, that's high praise. You're the pedigree asshole, after all." He shook his head. "Really, Bobby, you should have been a little nicer to Dean, believed him maybe. He told you I wasn't gone, and, oops, he was right."

"Are you vengeful?" Castiel asked bluntly.

Sam tapped his chin thoughtfully. "In a way, yes. I'm feeling pretty vengeful right now, especially toward _you_ , Castiel, but I am not a vengeful spirit." He walked forward a few paces. "Want to see something cool?" He blinked and when his eyes opened, they were completely black—demonic black.

"No," Dean moaned.

"Oh, yes," Sam said with satisfaction. "I got an upgrade."

"What happened to you?" Bobby asked.

"I would have thought that was obvious," Sam said. "There was a note after all."

"A suicide note," Castiel said harshly.

"Yes, exactly, a _suicide_ note. I would have thought the rest was pretty clear from the state of the room. All that blood…" He smiled nostalgically. "Sammy cut his wrists, bled out, and then this… this is the result. Isn't it good? I think it's awesome."

"You're not Sammy," Dean growled.

"No," he agreed. "I'm really not."

"Come with us," Dean said desperately. "Let us help you."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did you even read the note, Dean? I said for you to let me go. That wasn't a request; it was a warning. You really should have listened."

He walked forward menacingly slowly, his eyes fixed on Dean. Castiel tried to jump in front of him and Sam swept him out of the way with a wave of his arm. He pointed a finger at him. "Interfere with something I want again, Castiel, and I will pull your arms off and beat you with them."

Castiel paled.

"Sammy, don't do this," Dean begged.

"Sammy is dead," he said brutally, turning back to Dean. He drew back his fist, and Dean braced himself for the blow. It didn't come though. Sam lowered his arm and shook his head. "You're not worth it. None of you."

He took a step back and Dean had to resist the urge to reach for him again.

"I don't want to see any of you again," he said. "If I do, I promise you'll be the ones that'll regret it."

Dean opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but Sam was already gone, disappearing without a word.

They stood, silent and shocked, for what felt like an eternity before there was movement behind them, and one of the EMTs that had taken care of the children patted Dean's shoulder. "Hey, you're the guys that rescued the family, right?"

Bobby cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"They're all on their way to the hospital now, so we can check you out."

Dean had no will to resist or to speak, or even to think, so he allowed himself to be led toward the ambulance to be taken care of.

* * *

They drove back to Sioux Falls with few words exchanged. Dean was trying not to think of what had happened and what he'd seen, and yet he could think of nothing else. He couldn't process it. It was too much for him to take in.

When they pulled into Bobby's yard, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was home at least. This place was protected, and they would be safe to just stop and be awhile.

He stopped the car outside the house and stayed with his hands gripping the steering wheel a moment.

His door opened, and Bobby peered inside. "Come on, son. Let's get you something to drink."

Dean realized that was what he needed. His mouth felt desiccated and his throat scratched. The EMTs had given them water to clear their throats after they'd checked them out and declared them well enough to go home to rest, but he needed a _real_ drink; something that would quench the need inside him to blot everything out.

He climbed out of the car and followed Bobby into the house. He flopped onto the couch and took the glass of whiskey Bobby brought him gratefully. He took a sip and felt it burning his abused throat. It didn't stop him emptying the glass and holding it out for more though.

When he had a second glass, he relaxed and tipped his head against the back of the couch, closing his eyes.

"We need to talk about what happened," Bobby said.

The seat beside him dipped and Dean opened his eyes to see that Castiel was beside him and Bobby had pulled up a chair in front of them.

"Do we have to?" Dean asked.

"I think we do," Bobby said apologetically.

Dean sat up with a sigh. "Okay, so Sammy's not a ghost. I was wrong."

"Yes," Bobby agreed. "But it wasn't your fault. I'm guessing the demon allowed himself to be seen here and has been manipulating the talking board since. You were fooled by something you couldn't have anticipated. No one could. Demon's aren't usually _that_ cruel."

"That one was," Castiel said darkly. He still had a smudge of soot on his cheek and he was pale. Dean was sure he looked similar. They were all in shock.

"It was," Dean said. "I never thought he would do anything like that to me. Not Sam."

Castiel frowned. "That wasn't Sam, Dean."

"Not anymore," Dean said miserably.

"Not at all," Castiel said. "That was Sam's body being ridden by a demon."

Dean's back straightened and he turned his whole body to Castiel. "What?"

Castiel looked like he wanted to smile. "Sam is not a demon; he is being possessed by one. It takes centuries to be changed into a demon; Sam hasn't been gone nearly long enough to be changed."

"But he was dead," Bobby stated. "We saw the motel."

"We thought he was dead, because there was so much blood," Castiel said. "But if a demon got there, it could have possessed him before the moment of death. It would not be limited by blood loss or weakness when it was inside him."

"His tattoo?" Bobby asked.

"They could have burned it away," Castiel said.

"You sure about this?" Bobby asked.

It sounded like he didn't want to believe, but Dean knew better. Bobby was scared to believe. If Sam was possessed, it was better as they would be able to save him. They just needed to exorcise the demon. Sammy would be alive. He needed to be saved still, just in a different way than Dean had believed.

"Think, Bobby," he said. "What demon wouldn't want a Winchester as a meatsuit? It's the ultimate way to screw with us all. I know who it is, too."

"Who?" Castiel asked.

"Ambrose. He even told me already. When he was pretending to be Sammy on the talking board, he would say someone was hurting him. I asked who and he told me it was Ambrose. It had to be the demon's idea of a joke. He is hurting Sam, and us, by taking his body. It would be hilarious for him, to give us the clues and watch as we tried to work it out."

"Why do you think he let us see him?" Bobby asked.

Dean had his answer already. "Because he was bored. He had done what he could to torture me by pretending to be Sam as a ghost, but that would only entertain him so long. I think sooner or later he would have showed himself again. It was just too good an opportunity today to resist."

"He was there for the fire," Bobby said. "The woman said the black-eyed man had told her to stay inside. He would have enjoyed seeing her burn alive. She was too terrified leave at first. He scared her into staying. I guess when he saw us coming, he decided to up the game a little."

"This is perfect!" Dean said excitedly, getting to his feet and pacing in front of the desk. "We just need to find him again and we can get Sam back." He breathed out shakily. "I don't even need to deal. I won't break anyone. We'll exorcise Ambrose, get Sam back, and we'll help him cope without Lucifer."

"That's great and all, but how are we going to trap a demon like him?" Bobby asked. "He's got to be powerful as all hell."

"Same way we trap any demon," Dean said. "We summon him and let him do the rest. We can use that Enochian devil's trap they put Alastair in, right, Cas?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "I can do that."

"This is dangerous," Bobby stated.

"No more than it was for us to go after him with no plan but the knife. We know what's coming for us this time. We can do it. It's Sam."

Bobby nodded slowly. "It's Sam."

Dean turned to Castiel who nodded. "I will do whatever I can to help."

"Great," Dean said. "Let's go."

* * *

Sam threw open the doors to Crowley's throne room and strode in with his arms spread wide. "Bow to me for I am your new king."

The assembled demons looked startled and Crowley looked up from the contract he was perusing. "Excuse me?"

"Just kidding," Sam said waving away his concerns. "For now."

Crowley sighed and handed the contract to the demon at his side. "It looks fine. Go ahead." He waited until the demon had scurried away and then he said, "Okay, Sam, tell me what's got you so excited."

Sam grinned wickedly. "Dean. Well, I guess they were all there, but Dean… he was the sweetest part."

"You been playing Casper again?"

"Sadly, I think my ghostly days are over. Dean knows I'm a demon now."

"How did he figure that out? I didn't think he had two braincells to rub together."

"He doesn't," Sam said. "Dean was doubling up on the bad temper line when they were handing out brains. But they turned up where I was taking out Elizabeth and I couldn't resist screwing with them a little more. I let them play the heroes, saving a family from a burning building, and then I had a chat with them." He tucked his hands into his pocket and framed his face and eyes into the pleading softness he'd employed for Dean. "Hey, Dean."

Crowley laughed. "And the Oscar goes to…"

"Exactly. They were completely fooled. There was Castiel looking at me like I was some kind of blessing from his Dad, and Bobby playing the kindly father figure, and Dean… well, he was just awesome. They really thought I was Sammy. It was kinda beautiful."

"I bet. Wish you'd taken me along. There's little in life that I appreciate more than heartbroken Winchesters."

"It was spur of the moment," Sam said. "Next time I stomp on their feels, you can come." He grinned. "Elizabeth is done, by the way. I let Charles go to share the story for me."

"I know. He came to me blubbering like a baby about what you did. Is it true you cut off her lips?"

"And poked out her eyes," Sam said. "I hope he's not forgetting that."

"Nope, he mentioned that, too."

"Good," Sam said satisfied. "I'd hate for him miss the good parts."

"Did you know your scarecrow had been found?"

"No! Damn. I hope they heard about it at least. I quite liked the idea of Geoffrey being there, keeping my good work close to their hearts when I couldn't be there in person."

"How are you going to fill your days now you can't haunt them?" Crowley asked.

Sam shrugged. "I've still got a couple of Geoffrey's cronies to take out, and there's always the rack. I'm enjoying that."

"You could have a go on the crossroads," Crowley suggested. "There's satisfaction to be had in making deals."

"And kissing pathetic slobs that can't get their lives on track without demonic intervention? No thanks. I'll leave that to…" He froze as he felt a jolt in his stomach. "What the hell was that?"

Crowley frowned. "What the hell was what?"

"Feels like something pulling at me," Sam said.

"That would be a summoning," Crowley said. "Looks like someone needs to talk."

"Shit," Sam spat. "Do I have to go?"

"Yes. You either go on your own or you're dragged there against your will. Better to get it over with."

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. He allowed himself to be pulled, knowing who and what he was going to face when he got there.

The musty smell reached him the moment he arrived. He looked around, avoiding looking at the three men facing him as he took in his surroundings. It was an old barn. The wood slatted walls were grimy and there was a stack of moldering straw at the far end of the room.

He finally let his eyes settle on Dean, Bobby and Castiel at their place by the door. They looked nervous but determined as they faced him down.

"Dean, this is a whole now kind of dumb, even for someone as stupid as you."

"We're going to help you, Sam," Dean said.

"Seriously? I didn't make myself clear enough earlier? You still don't understand that I don't need your help? I don't need anyone's help. I am perfectly happy as I am, thanks."

"We're not talking to you," Castiel said. "We're talking to Sam."

"I am Sam." He said it slowly so that Castiel's limited brainpower could keep up.

Dean glared at him. "No, you're riding Sam, that doesn't make you him, _Ambrose_."

For a moment, Sam was stunned into disbelieving silence. Then he realized they were serious. They still didn't get it.

He howled with laughter. "You think I'm possessed? That's hilarious. How damn stupid are you?"

"You can't fool us," Dean said.

"Apparently I can. I spent years convincing you I cared about you, didn't I? You thought I gave even the smallest of shits what happened to you. I am _so_ glad that particular lie is over. Pretending to like you was hard enough, pretending to love you was nauseating."

"Get out of him!" Dean demanded. "Give me my brother back!"

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked toward them. He was going to make this lesson nice and clear for the last time. He would give them this one more warning and then he'd kill them, superiority be damned He would make them his first human kills, and if he liked it, they wouldn't be the last. There were a lot of other hunters out there making nuisances of themselves. Ellen and Jo for example. He thought flaying Jo of that smooth, ivory skin would be satisfying. And Ellen was just begging for a decapitation with her superior attitude to Lucifer. He saw now that Lucifer had been one of the greatest mistakes of his life, but that didn't excuse her passive aggression on the subject.

He took one more step and then realized he was hitting a wall. He looked down but there was nothing painted on the wooden floor, and when he looked up he saw the vaulted ceiling was clear, too. There was a bitter smell in the air though.

"What did you do?" he asked.

Bobby smiled as he pulled out a spiraling tube light from his jacket and flipped it on. The floor lit with an intricate devil's trap painted beneath him.

"Clever," he said. "I didn't know you were a Dateline fan, Bobby."

"I indulge," Bobby said.

"In more than raw liquor? Who knew?" He sighed. "So, what's the plan? You going to exorcise me and get your Sammy back?"

"Yes," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Clever. Might even work if I wasn't, you know, already me. I didn't lie, Sammy is dead, but _Sam…_ well, I'm very much alive and kicking still."

"You're a demon," Castiel stated.

"Ten points to the genius in the back," Sam said sarcastically. "Okay, let's get this over with. Chant your little bit of Latin and _save_ me."

Dean looked to Bobby who nodded, and Dean began to chant. _"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus."_

Sam wondered if it would do anything. He doubted it, and as Dean continued to chant, he realized it wouldn't. He had seen and performed enough exorcisms to know that they affected the demons they were practiced on; they writhed and moaned, but he felt nothing. He wasn't possessing his own body. He was a pure demon. There was no getting him out.

" _Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii."_

"It's not going to work," Sam said in a bored tone.

"Yes, it is," Bobby said, though he didn't look convinced. "We're getting our boy back."

" _Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."_

"You're so damn stupid."

" _Ergo, draco maledicte."_

"When I get out of here, I'm going to be pissed," he warned.

" _Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire."_

Sam laughed as Dean's face became red and strained as he forced out the words.

" _Te rogamus."_ He fixed his eyes on Sam. " _Audi nos!"_

Sam clapped his hands to his throat and threw back his head. He heard someone suck in a shaky breath and he laughed as he looked back at Dean. "Well, that worked wonderfully. Good job, team!"

"What the hell?" Bobby whispered.

"Let me make this simple for you," Sam said, unbuttoning the collar of his grey dress shirt. He pulled it back to expose the tattoo and watched their faces carefully for the moment of comprehension. It didn't come fast, they were too damn stupid, so he explained. "Not a meatsuit. An actual demon. I was upgraded shortly after I died when someone came and helped me out." He fastened his collar then unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeve, showing them the Mark. "This gave me something of a boost. You could have warned me about it, Castiel. I might not have been so eager to off myself if I'd known."

Castiel grimaced at the sight of the Mark.

"Still squeamish?" Sam asked him. "Pity. It's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Castiel?" Dean prompted.

Castiel looked at Dean, his expression devastated, "I didn't know, I swear."

"I believe you," Dean said dully. "It's okay."

"It's more than okay," Sam said. "I don't think you realize what a step up this is for me. None of you had the slightest comprehension of how it felt to live without Satan. I was in agony. Now that I am free of that, I am happier than I have ever been. It's actually kind of selfish of you to try to interfere with that."

"Sammy," Dean said, his voice broken.

Sam sighed. "Sammy is dead. I'm Sam and I am very much alive."

"You're still our bitch though," Bobby said. "As long as you're in that trap, you're ours. We'll find a way to fix you, and this… thing… you've become will be gone."

"As long I'm trapped, yeah? Let's see if there's something I can do about that." Sam flicked his fingers at the trap and fire caught. "Huh. Flammable. Nice choice, Bobby." The fire spread around the circle encompassing the trap and Sam stepped out. "Will you look at that, I'm free. What are you going to do now?" he asked.

"You're a monster," Bobby growled.

"That was rude," Sam said conversationally. He brought his hand up and used his psychic ability to squeeze Bobby's throat as he sauntered towards them. Bobby rasped in a breath, his hands coming to his neck as he dropped to his knees. Dean knelt beside him, his hand on his shoulder, pleading with Sam to stop. Sam didn't though. He'd stop before killing him, probably, but he wouldn't mind causing a little oxygen-deprivation induced brain damage first.

Castiel snatched something from Dean's pocket and rushed at him. Sam stood, stunned, as Castiel plunged the demon knife in over his heart. Light crackled and the wound burned, but Sam kept his feet, knowing immediately the injury was minor. It was irritating though. He grabbed the knife and yanked it out of his chest and threw it away. His hold on Bobby had dropped with the attack, but the old man stayed on his knees, his face pale and horrified.

Castiel backed away, holding his hands up in front of him. "I didn't…"

"But you did," Sam said. "You ruined my suit. I liked this suit. He grabbed one of Castiel's raised arms and squeezed hard. There was a crack and Castiel howled with pain. Sam released him and pushed him away roughly. Dean caught him, and Castiel held his injured arm against his chest.

Sam stared into Dean's shocked eyes. "I don't kill humans. I think it's tacky and lazy. I will make an exception, however, if you continue to bother me, and I won't stop there. I will find every hunter in the country and I will end them. The last words from their lips, before I slice them off, will be them cursing your names. Do you understand me?"

Tears streaked down Dean's face as he nodded. "I understand."

"Good. I don't give second chances." He reached out and squeezed Dean's shoulder hard enough to hurt but not injure. "See ya, jerk."

He left them, the howling former angel, the broken old hunter, and his devastated former brother, and went back to London. He needed a new suit.

* * *

 **So… How was that? Worth the wait?**

 **Each of my chapter files has a name so I can navigate them when I am looking for a specific scene. This one was 'Dean getting his heart stomped on'. I think it was pretty apt. I had an awesome time with Demon!Sam, but I'm curious how it is to read for you guys. Let me know.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	26. Chapter 25

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing for me. Thank you also Gredelina1 for helping and supporting throughout the writing process.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Five**_

They had to wait for what felt like forever in the ER an hour outside Sioux Falls while Castiel's arm was x-rayed and declared to have an oblique fracture. Bobby stayed with him while they set it and put on a cast. Castiel then insisted that Bobby was checked out too after his near-strangulation, so it took another two hours for them to discover that, while the swelling would restrict his breathing slightly and make his voice hoarse a while, he was okay.

Dean spent the time they were gone in the waiting room, staring into space and wishing he had something to drink. He needed something to help him cope with the agony he was feeling. He doubted even Castiel's pain could come close to how he felt. At least Castiel could be medicated to dull his pain; there was no relief for Dean. He had to live with the fact his brother was worse than dead now.

As soon as they were out of the hospital, Dean drove back into town to find a liquor store. When he succeeded, he pulled up outside and left Bobby and Castiel in the car while he went in to get supplies. He perused the shelves, looking for something halfway decent that would knock him out, settling on a bottle of Jose Cuervo and another of Jack Daniels. He carried the package back to the car and set it on the seat between himself and Bobby. Bobby listened to the clink of the bottles, and said, "You sure that's a good idea?"

"Yes," Dean said. "It's the only idea I have right now."

"Maybe we should just go home and sleep. We've had a hell of a day."

"You can go home if you like. I'll steal you a car. I am going to find a crap-hole motel and drink myself into oblivion, because the promise of that is the only thing keeping me going right now."

Bobby held his injured throat. "Dean, I know you're hurting, but alcohol poisoning isn't going to help."

"It might," Dean said. "Maybe it'll kill me. I can see no downside to that."

"I know you don't mean that," Bobby said.

Dean didn't answer. He started the engine and pulled away from the sidewalk.

Bobby glared at him in silence for the duration of the short drive to the edge of town. Dean knew he was building up a head of steam for an explosion, but he didn't care. He thought he could head him off by getting him and Castiel a separate room and leaving Bobby to help the gimp.

He walked into the motel office and booked two doubles. He didn't realize his mistake until he'd paid, and he couldn't face changing it. What would he even say? _'See, I booked a double because my brother usually shares with me, but since he's technically dead now, and a demon, I don't think he'll come to share. In fact, if he does show, it's probably going to be to kill me. Not sure I'd mind that right now, since I feel dead inside already, but the rest of my family might not be so understanding.'_

No. It was better to suck it up and just deal with the reminder in the form of an empty bed.

He grabbed the keys and carried them out to Bobby and Castiel. "You're in twelve," he said, handing Bobby the key and walking away before he could say anything else. He grabbed the liquor from the car and let himself into his room. Before the door could close behind him, Bobby caught it and walked in followed by Castiel.

"I don't want to talk, Bobby," Dean said.

"Tough. We're going to. If you're set on drinking yourself to death tonight, I am going to have my say while you're still here to listen to it. No point me trying when I'm burying your ass."

Dean frowned. "Burying?"

"Yes. Burying. See, putting you on the pyre stops you coming back again. I'm not cancelling out that chance by giving you a hunter's end. You can come right back and listen to me bitching at your ghost, too."

"Ghost? Is that your idea of a joke?"

"No," Bobby said harshly. "It's a fact. You try checking out on me, and I will make you regret it. I am older. I have earned the right to go first. You have not earned the right to give up."

Dean laughed harshly. "Really? What do I have to do to earn that right? Spend my life saving other people? Done that. Have my brother disappear on me so he can spend the rest of time with his boyfriend? Have him come back and then disappear again when he's sucked into Purgatory? Fight to get him back when his archangel boyfriend gave up? Done all of that, too. How about watching my brother slowly losing himself to some damn thing on his arm and then _killing_ himself because he can't get his boyfriend back? What d'ya know, I already did all that too!" He drew in a sharp breath. "Now I've found him turned into a demon, the darkest most evil son of a bitch I've ever seen. Tell me, Bobby, what else do I have to suffer to earn the right to give up?"

He slammed the bottles down on the table and unscrewed the cap of the tequila. He took a swig that made him gasp and then took another.

Bobby waited until he had lowered the bottle before he spoke. "You've suffered. God knows I'm not blind to that. But not a single moment of those things happened in a vacuum. _We_ lost Sam to the cage. _We_ lost him to Purgatory and the Mark and then death. He's not just a demon for you. He is a demon for all of us! He almost choked the life out of me tonight. He broke Castiel's damn arm! Do you seriously think you're the only one affected by any of that?"

"He's my brother," Dean said angrily.

"And he was my son! He was from the moment your daddy first left the pair of you on my doorstep so he could go save someone else's family. He was my boy just like you are, and if you seriously think that means nothing, I will leave now and never see you again."

Dean shook his head, stunned at the passion in Bobby's voice and the possibility of losing him. "No," he said quietly.

"Then quit acting like you're the only one that's lost something. We all have."

Dean took another swig on the bottle and dropped down onto the edge of the bed. "He's really gone this time."

"He is," Castiel said quietly. "I was wrong. That wasn't a demon inside Sam; it was a demon created _from_ Sam. I didn't know the Mark would do that, though in hindsight it makes sense. If I had known, I would have warned him; I would have warned you all. Our stories never told that part of Cain's tale."

Dean shrugged. "No one knew except Cain himself, and he obviously didn't feel like sharing. And now Sammy's… gone."

Castiel nodded. "He is."

Dean raked a hand over his face. "He's evil."

"He's 'The Boss'," Bobby said.

Dean's head snapped up. "You think?"

"I'm certain. Sam was no ordinary demon, able to break his trap and survive the exorcism. He took the knife to the heart and he didn't even stumble. You said Alastair was like that, too. Sam is seriously powered up. It has to be him."

Dean's heart didn't want to accept it, though his mind knew it was true. Sam had been the one to kill Geoffrey. He had the rest of the demons running scared and calling him boss. He was next in line to the throne. Sam was truly gone. There was no way to get him back, and even if there was, there was no way he would be able to handle what he'd done.

Dean couldn't handle it either. He took another swig of his drink, wanting oblivion to come fast. He couldn't bear to feel so deeply.

"We're never getting him back," he said quietly, speaking to himself though Bobby answered.

"No, we're not."

Dean had been clinging to hope for so long, hoping that Sam would kill Metatron and find a way to free Lucifer, that they would find his body and make a deal with Crowley, that they could exorcise the demon that took him and have him back. There was no hope now, and Dean had nothing left, no reserves of strength to get him through.

Despite what it would do to Bobby and Castiel, he didn't know how to keep going anymore.

* * *

The tailor Sam had injured before was actually pretty smart. Sam had no sooner arrived than he was presented with a new suit in his preferred shade of charcoal. He had apparently made a few copies in case of incident and return visits. He had also made them in black pinstripe, light grey, and navy. Sam took two of the spares, but left the black pinstripe as it was just plain ugly; also, Crowley wore black and Sam didn't want people to think he was imitating the _king_. He changed and left the ruined shirt and jacket in the changing room and went back to Hell for a little relaxation time before checking in at court.

Crowley was sitting in the throne, listening to a demon that was standing before him as he moaned about some supposed infringement on his life. Sam shoved him out of the way and turned to encompass the rest of the room. "Leave!" he said loudly.

There were no arguments, and no one looked to Crowley for his approval before leaving. It was satisfying how quickly they obeyed. Some even paid him obeisance on the way out.

Crowley sat back and watched them go and then said, "How did it go with the family?"

"First of all, they're not my family, not anymore at least. Second, how did you know it was them?"

"Who else would it be?" Crowley asked. "So, how did it go?"

"Pretty good," Sam said. "I broke Castiel's arm, choked Bobby half to death and broke Dean's heart. None of them are dead though, so I think that shows real restraint."

"If you say so," Crowley said. "I've never felt the need to break their bones. Well, I have, but I've never actually done it."

"You think you have more restraint than me?" Sam scoffed. "You're kidding me, right?"

"There is more to being a demon than torture and destroying lives, Sam."

"Like paperwork?" Sam asked with a smirk.

"No, like leadership. You may have them all calling you Sir and making up stories about you, but you need a few lessons in personnel management."

Sam frowned. "Or not. I have no desire to manage anyone, thanks."

"Good to hear," Crowley said quietly.

Sam snorted. "That's it, isn't it? You think I want to take your throne."

"Don't you?" Crowley asked suspiciously.

"To be honest, I hadn't really thought about it. I have been kinda enjoying myself lately as I am."

"They call you 'The Boss'."

"Because they're sheep," Sam said. "One of them starts and the others follow. I like Sir better anyway. No, right now, I am happy as I am. I'll let you know if that changes."

"You think you can threaten me?" Crowley blustered.

Sam walked towards him and leaned in uncomfortably close. "Yes, I think I can. I'm pretty sure I can do… Dammit!" He felt a tug in his gut.

Crowley frowned. "What now?"

"Being summoned _again_! What the hell can they need this time? Does Castiel want the other arm broken to even things out?"

Crowley smiled smugly. "Seems you're needed elsewhere."

"The hell with that! I need something to stop this shit. There has to be a way."

"There is," Crowley said. "There's a hex-bag you can use, but I'm not sure I should help out the person that is threatening me."

Sam felt the tug again. "You will tell me Crowley or so help me I will…" He was dragged away before he could finish.

He arrived in Bobby Singer's backyard. Dean was lit by the porch light; at his feet was the bowl he'd used for the summoning. He looked like he had aged years in the day that had passed since their last meeting. He was haggard and yet hopeful looking. "Sam."

"For the love of… What the hell do you want this time, Dean?"

"To talk."

Sam shook his head. "There is nothing left for us to talk about."

"Please, Sam, just wait a minute," he said.

Sam pretended to consider a moment. "No."

He disappeared only to reappear in the throne room again a moment later.

Crowley was sitting in his throne still, glowering at the floor. When Sam appeared, his head snapped up. "That was quick. Did you kill him?"

"He's alive," Sam said in a bored tone. "Not sure he actually wants to be, since he was dumb enough to summon me _again_ , but I didn't kill him."

"Good."

"You got a soft spot for him, Crowley?" Sam asked. "Is that what this is about?"

"No. I just appreciate the entertainment value he has. You've not been around long enough to see how dull things can get when you're eternal. If you find something good, you hang onto it."

"Sure. Now, about that hex-bag…" Sam said.

"See Eric. He'll set you up with one. You'll still feel him calling, but you can refuse to go."

Sam frowned. "Why have you never used one?"

"I do." He pulled a brown cloth-wrapped bundle from his pocket and held it out in the palm of his hand. "I always felt you calling. The difference is that I chose to answer each time. You guys were hilarious."

Sam snatched it out of his hand and tucked it in his pocket. "Thanks."

"That was _mine_ ," Crowley said, sounding like a five-year-old in a playground dispute.

"You can get another," Sam said. "I don't feel like dealing with your BFF, Eric. He's so in love with you that it's kinda gross."

"Says the man that had Lucifer lusting after him."

"I'm a demon, not a man, and how about you never mention Satan again. That way I won't feel the need to eviscerate you."

"Remember your place, Sam," Crowley warned. "I won't listen to threats forever."

Sam looked him up and down, the squat man in his throne made so low his feet didn't swing, and nodded. "No, I don't think you will."

He walked away, thinking that he was going to get bored of making the threats before Crowley got sick of hearing them. And then… well, he might decide on giving himself a promotion.

* * *

Sam was working over the rack when he felt the familiar tug in his stomach. He sighed heavily and straightened himself away from the intricate art he was carving into the soul's stomach.

"This has got to stop," he said harshly.

Dean had been summoning him what felt like endlessly since he had gotten back from their last short meeting. He was done with it. It was invasive and irritating. He didn't know whether Dean was deluded enough to think that some part of his brother remained in the upgrade or whether he was just suicidal, but he was sick of it. He had been in hell for years, and yet Dean was up there, doing his spells and interrupting Sam at play far too often. Really, Bobby should take better care of him. Unless he'd given up on him now. Sam wouldn't blame him. Dean pushed anyone's patience to the limit. Sam's own especially.

"Uh, Sir, is something wrong?" the demon beside him asked. She had come to watch him work as she was looking for tips, and she had stood so silently, only making occasional appreciative sounds, that Sam had almost forgotten she was there.

"Yes, some drink-addled asshole is summoning me again," he said bitterly. "Dean seems to have got my number mixed up with pizza delivery."

"Is there something I can do?" she asked.

"Kill him?" he suggested. "No, don't bother. I've realized leaving him to live is a much more fitting punishment for what's he's done to me. I just wish he'd find something else to amuse himself. A hobby. Ideas?"

"I understand that he enjoyed hunting," she said. "Perhaps he can be diverted to that again."

"You think I should arrange for some demons to assault Sioux Falls?" he said thoughtfully. "That could work, I guess."

He considered. Knowing Dean, he would throw himself into the fight and get his stupid ass killed. Even if he lived, he'd call in other hunters to help. It wouldn't occupy him long. He needed something that Dean wouldn't excel at, like basic human reasoning skills. He could find something nice and exotic for him to hunt, but that old soak Singer was pretty much a walking supernatural encyclopedia. He'd crack it too fast. He needed something neither of them or the meddling ex-angel would excel at.

"Huh," he said softly.

"What, sir?"

"Quiet. I'm having an idea. Yep. That'll do it." He handed her the razor. "Finish this up for me. I've got somewhere to be."

"Of course, Sir. Anything in particular you would like me to do?"

Sam examined his artwork, a recreation of Crowley's face in skin and flesh. "Just finish what's there. Pay attention to the eyes. Make sure they're beady enough." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Thanks, Bob."

"Actually, my name is…" She caught Sam's glare and quickly amended. "Bob. Absolutely. Thank you, Sir."

Sam clapped her on the shoulder. "You're welcome."

She beamed at him as he walked away. Crowley really didn't know a thing. He had brilliant personnel skills.

* * *

The library in Truth or Consequences was a small, one-story, tan brick place. It didn't look remotely impressive. Sam wondered why Metatron had chosen it to hide the tablets he would have valued so much. It was either incredibly clever, hiding something somewhere no one would think to look, or incredibly stupid. Whichever it was, Sam thought _his_ plan was actually pretty clever. There was no freeing the angels from their heavenly time-out, he knew, but letting them spend some time scouring the tablet for clues would keep them occupied. There was no way there a chance of freeing them, as Metatron had said under torture that it was a one-way trip. Sam might not have been as good at torture then as he was now, but he was still good; Metatron couldn't have lied to him. Even sending them on a wild goose chase for Castiel's grace might be fun. And if they did manage to find it… Well, then he wouldn't be human anymore, and it wouldn't be remotely tacky to kill an angel.

It was late when he arrived, and the building was in darkness. He forced the lock and let himself in, amused when an alarm blared. He punched the unit, cutting off the annoying sound, and walked into the stacks. He thought the bible should have been kept in the fiction section, as it was full of crap, but he found it in the religious texts. It was bound in basic black with gold lettering. Unsurprisingly in this day and age, it didn't look as though it had been dusted in a long time, let alone read. He pulled it from the shelf and opened to the back page.

He saw the neatly lettered Enochian words giving an address, and he chuckled as he understood the message behind the location. Metatron may have been an offensive little toad that Sam wished he could kill all over again, but he had an excellent sense of humor. He was also actually pretty clever. No one would look in the place he had hidden the tablets in this thankfully Godless age.

He tucked the bible under his arm, flicked a finger at a stack of books and set them on fire, then left for his next visit.

Eton College Library was an overly decorated building with a domed roof, white stone and brown brick walls, and lead windows. Sam didn't bother with the door this time; he just moved himself inside and looked around. The shelves were polished oak and filled with leather-bound volumes. Sam made for a secluded area at the back with glass display cabinets. He saw the Guttenberg Bible at once. It sat closed on a plinth beneath in a display cabinet below a shaded light. Sam punched through the glass and picked it up. He opened the cover and turned a few pages until he came to the hollow carved into the centuries old paper. The hole was large and deep, only leaving an inch of paper around the edges to conceal what was hidden within: two tablets. It was actually pretty genius of Metatron to hide it here. Not only was the bible in a protected place, it was in a place no one here would bother to look. What schoolboy was going to take time away from his iPhone to look at a bible?

He picked up the two tablets and examined them. He wished he knew which was which. He could deliver the angel tablet and keep the demon. He doubted there would be anything on the angel tablet that he didn't already know about from Lucifer, but he thought the demon one might have something annoying on there—like a way to summon him despite the hex-bag. He needed them distracted though, so he would deliver both. Let them try to sober Chuck up long enough to read them.

He looked around the room, his fingers twitching. There were a lot of probably valuable books here, definitely historic, and old Sam would have shuddered at the thought of bookmarking a page, let alone burning them to ash, but new Sam thought it would be kind of funny. With a nod he flicked his fingers at a shelf and the books burst into flames. He watched them burn for a moment before he heard a hiss overhead. He disappeared just before the sprinkler system could douse him in water. The books wouldn't burn, but they would be water damaged, and he supposed that would have to do.

He arrived in Chuck Shurley's cluttered home a moment later. There was a computer set up on the desk, the screen lighting the room with a blue glow. Sam wondered if he was still writing. If he was _daring_ to write about him still, Sam would chop his fingers off.

Chuck was stretched out on the couch, an empty bottle of whiskey held against his chest like a teddy and drool dripping onto his pillow. It was no wonder he and Dean got on so well. They probably had matching cirrhotic livers. For a moment, Sam stared down at him with hatred, then he bent to Chuck's ear and bellowed, "Wake up!"

Chuck bolted upright with a gasp. He ran a hand over his face and looked up at Sam. Sam saw the moment he recognized who was in front of him, as his eyes bugged.

"Sam!" he squeaked.

"Chuck." Sam let his eyes turn black to add a little menace to the moment. "How've you been?"

"Uh, good. Yeah, good. You?"

"I've been awesome," Sam said. "Have you been watching?"

Chuck shook his head jerkily. "No. I haven't seen you since you at all took your own life. Mostly I've seen Dean's reactions to what's been happening."

"Good," Sam said. "I didn't like being spied on." He gestured to the computer. "You're not writing about me anymore, are you?"

"No! I swear. I haven't written about you for a long time. I've been working on a YA novel about vampires."

"Because there's not enough of them in the world already," Sam said. "Dumbass."

"I'm just writing to what the market wants," Chuck defended quietly. "I have to make rent." He looked at the tablets in Sam's hands. "Are those what I think they are?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "I never got a good gauge on your real intelligence. You probably think they're candy."

"Are they the tablets?"

"Yes. The demon and angel versions. I'm going to give them to you on one proviso."

"Anything," Chuck said. "What do you need?"

"I need you to conceal anything on the demon tablet that might inconvenience me from Dean. I don't want him annoying me any more than he already is. Understand?"

"Absolutely," Chuck said.

"Your job is to distract them. They're going to be gunning for the angel tablet, I think, because they're dumb enough to think heaven can still be opened. Save the demon tablet for the days in which Dean decides that he wants to test his luck summoning me again."

Chuck nodded. "Okay. I can do that."

Sam smiled benevolently. "I know. I am relying on you, Chuck. I would hate to have to come back to punish you."

Chuck swallowed hard. "Definitely don't want that."

"Good. Now grab a pen and paper. I have something else for you."

Chuck scrambled sideways and picked up a notepad and pen from beside the phone and looked attentively at Sam. "Okay?"

"Castiel's grace is in Foligno, Italy. The Oratorio della Nunziatella in fact. I don't know exactly where," he lied. "He might have to search a little."

"Italy?" Chuck said, his voice stunned.

"Yep." Sam smiled smugly. He was pretty sure them trying to find that would also be a nice distraction. Not only was Dean technically dead, and a wanted criminal alive, he was piss scared of flying too. And that was just getting them into the country. All in all, Sam thought that was one scavenger hunt they'd never win.

Chuck cleared his throat. "Don't kill me for asking, but why are you doing this? Surely if Castiel is an angel again, he's a bigger threat to you."

"Castiel will never be a threat to me," Sam said. "I am a Knight of Hell. He is a feathered rat with the intelligence of a fruit fly. You might want to make that clear, too. _If_ he comes after me with wings, I will end him. Humans are no challenge, but I'd like to have an angel pelt on my wall."

Chuck shuddered.

Sam considered a moment before deciding to drive the point home. "And I will happily add a mounted prophet head to my wall too if you fail. If Dean summons me, I will blame you. Understand?"

"Yes," he croaked. "I understand perfectly.

Sam clapped his hands together. "Good. Take care, Chuck. I'll make sure to keep an eye on you. Wouldn't want you to slip up."

Chuck gulped. "Okay, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "It's Sir, actually."

"Of course. Sir. I'm sorry."

"Let that be your last mistake," Sam said and then left the prophet sweating and shaking on his stained couch. He thought he needed a little Hell time.

* * *

 **So… They've got the tablets coming and Sam is discovering his artistic side. Good times—for me and Sam at least. How were they for you?**

 **Any Blackadder fans pick up the Easter egg?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	27. Chapter 26

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredelina1 for helping and supporting.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Six**_

Sam knew when Chuck reached Bobby's place as the summons stopped and he was left in peace. He enjoyed himself for a year more in Hell and then decided to pay a visit to Crowley. He probably should have told him what he'd done already. Crowley was sure to get all butthurt about it. He was so sensitive for a demon.

He walked into the asylum and made for the throne room, only stopping when he saw that idiot Eric barring the way.

Eric was a pain in the ass. He was devoted to Crowley, and seemed to think that gave him some status. It might among the others, but it didn't mean shit to Sam. Eric was just another sheep as far as he was concerned.

"Out of my way," he ordered.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but Crowley is having a private audience with some of the crossroads team and he has asked not to be interrupted."

"He won't mind me."

"He requested that you in particular be kept out," Eric said nervously.

Sam frowned. "He actually said that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Wow, that hurts." Sam put a hand to his heart. "After all I've done for him. His torturers are much more skilled since I stepped up to train them."

"I'm sorry, Sir. But he really did insist."

Sam shook his head sadly. "You think you know a guy… Tell me something, Eric. Is Crowley really talking deals in there or is this something to do with me? Is he plotting against me?"

"I wouldn't know, Sir. I am not a crossroads demon. I wasn't invited either."

"Let's find out, shall we?"

"Really, Sir, I must insist that you stay out here."

He grabbed Sam's arm and Sam yanked away from him. His eyes darkened with anger and he reached into his suit for the blade. "You really shouldn't have done that," he said in a low growl.

Eric raised his hands. "I didn't… I wouldn't…"

"You did, so obviously you would," Sam replied. He raised the blade in his arms and lined up his sights on the demon's neck.

"Sire!" Eric shouted. "Help me!"

"No chance," Sam said, swinging the blade through the air and swiping it through his neck. The head and body fell to the floor with thuds and blood flowed from the two pieces. Sam picked the head up, holding it away from him so the blood wouldn't get on him and stared into the roving eyes. "I told you."

The door flew open and Crowley rushed out. "Sam, what the hell are you…" He froze as he caught sight of Eric's head in his hand. "What did you do?"

Sam threw the head at him and he caught it automatically, grimacing as blood spattered on his suit. He looked down at the face and said, "Really, Sam? He was the best assistant I ever had."

"He was annoying me," Sam said. "As are you."

"You _cannot_ act like this," Crowley blustered. "I will not tolerate it. I have been patient, knowing you're young and need time to settle into your skin, but you have been indulged long enough. You will not disrespect me and kill who was probably my only useful employee to date."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "I have been indulged?"

"Yes. I have treated you like a son. I have let you do what you like. I wouldn't let just anyone kill someone like Geoffrey, a skilled torturer, but I let you."

" _Let_ me?" Sam stepped closer to him.

"Yes," Crowley persisted. "I _let_ you. But that is over. You will toe the line like the others."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. That Crowley was deluded enough to think he would get away with talking to Sam like that was ridiculous. Sam wasn't some bottom feeder. He was a Knight, and he wasn't remotely afraid of Crowley.

He was in the mood to screw with him though.

He ducked his head and let Crowley vent at him.

"Demons need to know their place, Sam. Even knights. I am king, and I will be treated with respect. Now, I think you have something to say to me, don't you?"

Sam bit his lip to fight back a laugh. "I'm sorry."

"That's better," Crowley said, satisfied. "Now apologize to Eric." He held up the head by the hair.

"I think you misunderstand," Sam said, looking up at him. "I am not apologizing for killing Eric or disrespecting you. I am apologizing for letting it go on as long as I have. I should have made my position clear from the start. I am not your subject. I am your superior. I respected you before, as I thought you were actually pretty clever, going from a punk-ass crossroads demon to king, but that was where it ended. When I actually saw how pathetic the other demons were and how they followed you blindly, I realized you were nothing more than an opportunist. It probably wasn't even you that kept them in line so long; the fact you were Lucifer's mouthpiece was probably enough.

"How dare you!" he snarled.

Sam grabbed his shoulders and shoved him away. He collided with the throne room doors and skidded to the floor halfway through the doors. Sam stepped around him and walked past the red-eyed demons lining the room to the throne. He realized he should have done this the first day he arrived. He had explored his demonhood when he should have been putting Crowley in his place. He turned and eased himself down onto the throne under the shocked gaze of the assembled demons. He sat back and stretched his legs out in front of him.

"Hmm… I'm going to need this raised a little," he said.

Crowley scrambled to his feet and walked into the room. His eyes were bulging and his face red with anger, but when he spoke, his voice was one of forced civility. "I think you're in my seat."

"No, I am in _my_ seat," Sam said. "At least it will be mine when it sits more than a few inches off the ground. My legs are going to cramp sitting like this."

"I won't let you do this, Sam."

"It's _Sir_ to you," Sam said. "And you really have no choice in the matter." He raised his voice. "Minions! Get in here!"

There were racing footsteps in the hall and demons flooded into the room. They looked between Crowley and Sam, mouths dropping open.

Sam got to his feet and advanced on Crowley who, impressively, stood his ground. "The king will be taking a little sabbatical," he said. "I am in charge now. If you have questions or concerns, take them to someone else, as I really don't give a shit."

"You can't do this!" Crowley growled. He looked around the crowded room at the demons. "Someone deal with him!"

Some looked down at the floor, almost ashamed, and Sam noted their faces. Others examined their fingernails or looked up at the ceiling, bored, and Sam knew they needed to be rewarded. No one met Crowley's eyes though. He was alone.

"I am king," Crowley bleated.

"You _were_ king. Now you're just another sheep. I've got this under control." Sam paused a moment to think and then said, "I'll do you a solid. You can have Scotland. Go home; eat some haggis; visit your old haunts. Track down your son's grave and desecrate it. I'll put the word out that you're to be left alone. Actually, I'll do one better. I'll make sure no demon steps foot there again. You'll have all the space you need from nasty reminders of what you've lost with your stupidity."

He had done more than cast Crowley out and isolate him; he had made sure there would be no convergence around him as leader again. Crowley would be completely alone.

"You cannot do this, Sam. You owe me!"

Sam sighed as he pushed out of the low chair and raised the blade to Crowley's throat. "I will give you one more chance. You can leave now and make a new life for yourself, or you can die." He pressed forward slightly, breaking the skin of Crowley's throat, and smiled. "I know which one I'd choose."

Crowley cast him a look of hatred and then he turned and walked swiftly from the room. Before the doors closed behind him, Sam saw him bend to pick up the pieces of Eric. He figured that was harmless, so he didn't try to stop him. A dethroned king probably deserved at least one lackey.

He looked at the Blade for a moment, admiring its beauty, and then a demon cleared her throat. He followed the sound to a red-eyed woman standing a little forward of the others.

"Are you our new king, Sire?" she asked.

"Yes," Sam said. "But you can save that sire crap. Call me Sir and I'll be happy."

"Yes, Sir."

"Now, I need one handy demon to fix this throne and another to arrange a meeting. Take a stadium if you need to. I want to speak to every earthbound demon I have, introduce myself. We're going to make a few new rules, too."

"Such as, Sir?"

"First of all, I want you red-eyes working hard. I want to swell our ranks. And I want to change things up a little. I don't want to be bothered by every deal you want to make. Unless it's something big, go ahead with it yourselves and let me know maybe every few weeks what you've done. Also, we're doing away with that ten-year bullshit. Dean only got a year, so that will do for the others, too."

"Sir, people might not be willing to deal for a year only," she said.

"Then you'll have to be extra persuasive," Sam said. "I have faith in you all to make me proud. Now go." He flicked a finger at her. "All of you. I need a little alone time."

They scurried from the room and Sam watched them go. Things were going to change. Hell was going to become what it should have always been—pure horror for the souls and a party for the demons.

It was good to be king.

* * *

Dean was sitting on the porch steps, nursing a glass of whiskey when a car rattled to a stop beside the Impala. He had to drag his eyes up to see who it was, and when he did, he lurched to his feet.

"You asshole!" he shouted. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I came to help," Chuck said.

"Really?" Dean said as the door burst open and Bobby and Castiel rushed out onto the porch. "You here to spout more shit at me about 'staying the course' and seeing 'more story' get told? I _did_ stay the course, and you know what I saw? I saw my brother breaking the arm of one of his best friends! I saw him choking the life out of the man he loved like a father! That some story you think I needed to see? You should have told me to give up there and then. Hell, you should have told me to kill myself rather than be forced to go through that!"

Bobby grabbed his arm and spoke his name harshly. "Give the man a chance!"

"To what?" Dean asked. "Spout more shit?"

"To help," Chuck said quietly. "I can help you."

"Come in, Chuck," Bobby said, tugging Dean into the kitchen and pushing him towards a chair. He brought Dean a fresh drink and handed it over only when Dean had flopped down into the seat. Dean took a sip and glowered across at Chuck.

Bobby fetched three mugs of coffee and set them on the table. "Let's try and talk about this like decent men, shall we?"

Dean cast him a withering look. "Sure. Let's try that."

Chuck pull out a chair far from the table and sat down, setting a paper sack on the table.

"What you got there?" Bobby asked.

"Tablets. The demon and angel ones."

Castiel gasped. "How did you find them?"

"I didn't," he admitted. "Sam brought them to me last night."

"And you're alive?" Castiel blurted.

Chuck laughed nervously. "Yeah. I guess. He didn't even break any bones. We actually had what, for him, counts as a civil conversation. At least for a Knight of Hell."

Castiel's eyes widened. "He's a Knight?"

"That what he called himself anyway."

"That's what Cain was, right?" Bobby said.

"Yes. It's a demon second only to Lilith, Alastair and the Princes of Hell, and they're all dead or gone. Sam is possibly the most powerful demon alive."

"More than Crowley?" Dean asked.

"Possibly. Crowley's power comes from the throne more than anything. Sam's is in him."

Dean had known Sam was powerful and dark, he would have to have been blind not to see, but an actual Knight? That was mind bending.

"How did he get hold of the tablets though?" Bobby asked.

Chuck coughed. "I'm not sure. I didn't see all of what happened with Metatron before he was killed, but I think Metatron must have told Sam himself."

"Why didn't he tell us?" Castiel asked.

Dean thought he knew the answer to that. When Sam had come out of the panic room after slaughtering Metatron, he had been so broken that the tablets probably didn't even cross his mind. Dean understood now that Sam must have been already half-gone in that moment. He would have been planning his death even then. What did tablets matter in the face of his loss?

"He was too far gone," Dean said.

Castiel nodded.

"Uh, I hate to add to the pain here, but I have something else," Chuck said. He took a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Castiel.

"Foligno, Italy," Castiel read aloud. "What it this?"

"An address," Chuck said.

Castiel rolled his eyes. It was such a human gesture that it made Dean realize just how changed Castiel was now. "I meant what is there?"

"It's where your grace is," Chuck said apologetically. "Metatron must have told him that, too."

Castiel's face drained of color. "My grace?" he whispered.

Chuck nodded. "Sorry."

"He knew," Castiel whispered.

Dean felt a wave of annoyance. Sam might have known, but could any of them blame him for not thinking to share when he was in that much pain? He wouldn't have been thinking of anything but Lucifer.

"It wasn't his fault," he growled. "What we saw in that room when he left makes it clear that Sam wasn't thinking straight when he walked out on us. He probably didn't even process what he'd heard after Metatron told him Lucifer couldn't come back. It _wasn't_ his fault!"

"Maybe not," Bobby said. "Don't make it any easier on Cas though, does it? Where is this place, Cas?"

"Central Italy. It's an oratory—a chapel. I cannot get there though. I have no wings."

"You could still fly," Chuck said with a nervous laugh.

"I am not a citizen of any country," Castiel said. "I have no documentation. No passport. I know Bobby and Dean are capable of good forgery, but an FBI badge isn't to get me anywhere."

"I could go," Bobby said. "Or Chuck could."

"Did he say anything else?" Castiel asked. "A more precise location within the oratory?"

Chuck shook his head. "I think that was the point. He just wanted you distracted. He didn't think you could actually get it back."

"Then there is nothing we can do," Castiel said. "For all we know it has been buried in the foundations. There is nothing we can do. I doubt you would find it if you went."

He looked so devastated that Dean felt almost bad for him. Had he not been consumed by what he was feeling, he would have felt sympathy for Castiel. As it was, he was just jealous Chuck had seen Sam.

"At least we have the tablets," Castiel said bracingly. "We can do good with them."

"Yeah," Dean said. "There has to be something there that can help us. Chuck, you get to work on them now."

Chuck cleared his throat. "I mean this in the least cowardly way possible, but no. I was sent here to distract you, he wanted me to come, but I'm not supposed to actually find anything useful. He made that clear. This is just to keep you busy so you stop annoying him."

"How are we annoying him?" Bobby asked.

Chuck glanced at Dean and the hunter shook his head almost imperceptivity.

"Oh, I don't know. I guess just knowing you're here is annoying him," Chuck said.

Bobby looked between him and Dean and his face became stony. "I call bullshit. What have you been doing, Dean?"

"Nothing," Dean said.

"He's been summoning him," Chuck admitted under the force of Bobby's glare.

"You've seen him?" Bobby said. "Alone?"

"Only once," Dean said. "He hasn't come back since."

"Why the hell did you summon him even once?" Bobby asked. "You could have been killed."

"I wasn't," Dean said.

"Is that what you wanted?" Castiel asked angrily. "You want him to kill you?"

"Would that be so bad?" Dean asked. "What am I supposed to be living for now anyway?"

"Do we mean nothing?" Castiel asked. "Can't you find any fight to be with us?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Is that because you want to be or because Sam hasn't delivered yet?"

"I'm here," Dean said again, avoiding the question. He turned to Chuck. "So, if you're not here to do anything useful, why did you come?"

"Because Sam told me to," he said. "I'll be honest, I didn't even want to do that much, but when he gives you an order like that, when he's looking at you with those black eyes, you obey him. I have seen some pretty awful stuff since my dreams tuned into Winchester Vision, but I have never been as scared as I was talking to him last night."

"We know he's scary, but you have to help us, Chuck," Dean said. "It's what he wants. He told you to bring them and distract us, so you have to do that, too. If we get something useful off of it, that's awesome, but if not, you'll at least be doing what he wants. It's safer for you to obey again."

Chuck seemed to be considering him carefully and Dean pressed his advantage,

"Whatever happens, you have to stay here anyway. This is the best-protected place there is. You can't go home and be alone. You need us. You might as well occupy yourself while you're here."

"What are you hoping to find on those tablets?" Bobby asked him.

"Lucifer," Dean said. "I want to find a way to bring him back."

"Why?" Castiel asked.

Dean tried to articulate his thoughts. The truth was he thought if anyone could reach Sam now, help him, it was his lover. And if not, if Sam was truly gone, even from him, Lucifer could protect Bobby and Castiel when Dean was gone. He couldn't tell them that though, so he said. "Metatron could have lied. He must have known when he went in that room with Sam and the Blade that there was no way he was coming out alive. Why would he give us what we needed only to die anyway? I think there's a chance."

"But even if we do get Lucifer back, what good would it do?" Bobby asked. "He will never have the Sam he needs. It might be kinder to let him stay where he is."

"He can get Castiel's grace," he said. "He'll be able to get it back no worries."

"I don't want Lucifer to suffer like that just for me," Castiel said.

"It won't just be you," Dean said. "Demons flooded the earth when the Devil's Gate opened. We need the other angels to combat that, all of them."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "I think you're right. I hate to do it to Lucifer, but the world needs them back. I agree. Chuck, you have to translate the tablet. It's what Sam wants you to do and what we _need_ you to do."

Chuck raked a hand over his face. "Okay. I'll do it but you"—he pointed at Dean—"can't keep summoning him. I swear, if he comes here and kills me, I will haunt your ass."

Dean remembered saying those very words to Sam a lifetime ago. He had been dying at the time, and his message had been serious.

"Okay," he said. "I will leave Sam alone, and I will do everything I can to keep you safe."

We all will," Bobby said.

Chuck groaned. "Okay. Fine. We better get on with it then. Sooner I start, sooner it'll be over. Or I die. Either way, I think I'm screwed."

"You'll be fine," Dean said, his voice heartier than it had been for weeks.

He felt better, almost excited. He had hope.

* * *

 **So… I love Chuck. He's such a fun character to write, and it was exciting to bring him into this story now because of all the possibilities he holds for them.**

 **King Sam was also fun. Him taking over wasn't in the original outline, but it seemed too perfect to not take the opportunity when it came up.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	28. Chapter 27

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for all your work on this chapter and Gredelina1 for all your help and support. You ladies are awesome.**

 ** **I'm putting this chapter out early as I'm sending out a plea for help, too. Check the author's note at the end for more info.****

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Seven**_

Dean was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and watching Chuck scrawling on a notepad as he sat hunched over the tablet. He had tried to make sense of Chuck's notes before, but they just seemed to be the same symbols as on the tablet with a few random words mixed in. Hopefully, it made some kind of sense to him, as it meant nothing to Dean.

"I can't concentrate with you watching me, Dean," Chuck said.

"Try harder."

"I can't!" Chuck said, straightening up and looking Dean in the eye. "I am already scared out of my gourd, feeling like your crazy demon brother is breathing down my neck with every word I read. Having you hovering over me, too, is not helping anything. I need some space."

Chuck didn't understand. Dean _needed_ to be there. He _needed_ to feel like he was a part of this. He couldn't let it all be on Chuck and his ability to read the God scribble. He wanted to be there the moment Chuck saw something. It didn't help that he wasn't completely sure that Chuck would share what he did find. He was worried that Chuck was so terrified of Sam that he would just be doing exactly what he had been told to do: distracting them.

"Come away, Dean," Bobby said gently. "Give him some space. If you're making it harder for him, it's only going to slow him down."

Dean glowered. "You are doing your best, right, Chuck?"

Chuck colored with anger. "If you mean am I crapping all over what Sam told me to do under threat of death, then yes, I am doing that. Am I risking my neck with every single symbol I translate? Yes, I'm doing that, too. Am I terrified? Yes!"

Dean raised his hands. "I'm sorry. I just… We need to fix this."

"I'm aware of that. I am also aware that I need to work fast to get as much done as I can before Sam decides to check in and eviscerate me for daring to go against his instructions. You want me to get as much done as I can, so let me work in peace!"

Dean had never seen Chuck like this. He had seen him scared, but this was a whole new level of fear. The fact it was Sam that had done this to him made Dean's heart ache. Things were so wrong.

He walked into the library and dropped down onto the couch beside Castiel. He raked a hand over his face and tried to shut off his thoughts. It was hard as there was so much to think about.

"Anyone hungry?" Bobby asked. "I can make sandwiches."

Dean shook his head without looking at him.

"Not really," Castiel said quietly. "I would like more painkillers though." He tucked his casted arm a little closer to his stomach.

"You need to eat if you're taking pills," Bobby said. "You've got a human stomach now, Cas. You need to protect it."

"How is pain medication any worse than the alcohol you and Dean pour into an empty stomach?"

"It isn't," Bobby admitted. "Our stomachs are used to it though."

Castiel nodded, as if that was a perfectly acceptable answer, and followed Bobby into the kitchen. They were taking the fixings out of the fridge when a snarky voice said, "Oh, you have company."

Dean's head snapped up, and he saw Crowley and another man standing in the middle of the room. Crowley looked a little disheveled and the man with him, surely a demon, was wearing an ugly scarf and his eyes were darting around the room nervously.

Chuck threw himself over the table, concealing the tablets from Crowley's searching gaze. It was obviously too late and not remotely subtle.

Crowley laughed. "Nice try, Chuck, but I've been watching through the window a while. I already know you have the pretty tablets. That, by the way, is the best news I've had in the longest time. God knows we could use a little luck on our side." He glanced at Bobby. "Mind if I have a drink? I'm parched."

Without waiting for an answer, he walked to the cabinet and pulled out a fresh bottle of whiskey and unscrewed the cap. He took a draw from the bottle, grimaced, and then took another. "Damn, that's raw! How the hell do you boys survive on that?"

"We don't all have your funds to pickle our livers with quality," Bobby said. "Why didn't you bring your own?"

"I left in a hurry." Crowley turned to Chuck. "So, have you found anything on there yet? Something about taking down the King of Hell maybe?"

Bobby snorted. "Feeling a little suicidal, Crowley?"

"Getting that way," Crowley said. "But I wasn't talking about me. There's a new player in Hell now."

Dean gasped as he understood.

Crowley nodded with a wide satisfied smile at Dean's distress. "About Ten-feet tall. Ridiculous hair. Name rhymes with ham."

"Sam is the King of Hell?" Castiel asked, his shock taking all volume from his words.

"Yeah. He staged a coup yesterday."

Dean could not take this. He'd thought he had no emotion left in him to feel, but he was being torn apart by this news. Sam was the King of Hell. How was this even possible? How could he have so much power already? How could Crowley have let this happen?

"What the hell happened?" Bobby asked.

"Not honestly sure," Crowley said thoughtfully. "I was meeting with my crossroads team, building team morale, when Sam got back from the pit. He likes it there now. Spends a lot of time over the rack."

"He is torturing too?" Dean didn't know why he felt so surprised. Sam had to fill his days somehow, but Dean had _never_ wanted him to know how it felt to be on or over the rack. He wanted his brother innocent to that part of life. He was aware that there was no more innocence for him anymore, but he wished Sam had resisted. To do that was to open up a part of yourself to something dark. Though he supposed that, as a demon, Sam was already pure darkness.

"Yep. He's actually pretty skilled at it, too. Artistic, you know? He's got imagination that Alastair never had. The souls dread him more than anyone."

Dean swallowed bile at the mention of his own torturer. If Sam was worse than him… Lucifer probably didn't even have his darkness at the height of his power.

How much more could Dean stand to lose before he lost his mind altogether?

"Anyway," Crowley said. "I was in a meeting and he… injured my PA." He nodded his head at the nervous demon beside him. "Show them what he did Eric."

The demon unwound his scarf, revealing and raw red line that circled his neck and thick black stitches. "He cut off my head."

"Sam did that?" Castiel asked in shock.

"Yep," Crowley said. "Wasn't his first decapitation either. He did it to Geoffrey first, and maybe Elizabeth, too. I didn't exactly read her autopsy report, and Charles didn't make much sense in the end. Sam traumatized him into almost complete incoherence. I'm hoping he did lop off her head, in a way, because otherwise he left her to burn alive, and that's brutal even for a Geoffrey-sycophant like her."

Dean shook his head. "So he took out your PA. How did that end with you being demoted?"

"I'm getting to that part," Crowley said irritably. "So, after taking out my nearest and dearest, he storms into the throne room—"

"I'm sorry," Bobby said, "but you actually have a throne?"

"I was king," Crowley said. "Where did you think I was going to sit? On a beanbag? Now, if you're quite finished with the interruptions, I'll tell you the rest of the thrilling tale. He knocks me on my ass, and then, when I get up and make it back into the _throne_ room, he's sitting in my chair. He'd claimed Hell."

"It's as easy as that?" Dean asked.

Crowley huffed his annoyance. "Well obviously it was more than just taking the seat. It was having the demons let him. Not one of them stood for me. Eric here is the only one loyal to me, and he was in two pieces at the time. When they didn't step up, that signified that they accepted Sam in my place. He threw me out with that bloody Blade to my throat, after offering me up some new territory. He gave me Scotland. He's having all demons moved out now."

"And yet you're here," Bobby said.

"Exactly. And yet I am here, because I know as well as you do that we can't leave that unstable usurper in charge. It would be a disaster."

"And you want to go back to being boss?" Castiel asked.

"Of course. I am the devil you know, after all. Who would you rather have in the hot seat?"

"Right now, I'm thinking Eric," Bobby said. "He might be teetering on the edge of a full breakdown, but he's never betrayed us. I'm pretty sure you have, more than once, recently."

Crowley shrugged. "Maybe I have. But Eric has, too. Tell them, Eric."

Eric swallowed hard, the stitches bulging, and fixed his eyes on Dean. "United Britannia flight 424. You exorcised me. Quite skillfully actually; I was very scared."

"That's enough of that," Crowley said. "Kiss his ass when we're home again."

Eric nodded. "Sorry, Sire."

"And what did you do, Crowley?" Bobby asked. "I'm pretty sure it was more than just getting Sam the Mark in the first place

Dean's eyes snapped to Crowley. He thought that, at last, he was going to hear the full story of the events of recent months.

Crowley sighed. "Fine, you need to hear it, I'll share it. But no getting pissy with me. It's past the point that it'll do any good." He drew a breath. "Okay, I knew the Mark was more than a tattoo. I knew that it would be a struggle for Sam, but I thought he'd hold up to the strain a little better than he did. Cain had it for millennia and he didn't go off the deep end like Sam. He kept bees for crap's sake! How crazy could he have really been?

"Did you know it would make him a demon?" Dean asked quietly.

Crowley grimaced. "Technically, yes. I mean, I knew that's what happened to Cain. After he offed his brother, he killed himself and became a demon pretty damn soon after. I wasn't certain though, and I didn't think it was worth troubling you with, because Sam wasn't supposed to die. The Blade would have protected him from any outside threat, and it would have kept his body as it was. I didn't know the lummox was going to slash his own damn wrists."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "He told you about that?"

Crowley started to nod and then sighed. "No. I know because I went to the motel and found the full macabre display. Sam _was_ dead. His heart had stopped anyway. He was gone. It wasn't until I put the Blade in his hand that he woke up black-eyed."

"Did you know that would happen when you gave him the Blade?" Dean asked.

"No! I was just… Yes. Yes, I did. I thought it was better that he have some kind of life than get toasted on a pyre like a marshmallow. I didn't know it was going to end the way it has. Do you really think I would have done it if I did? I have been ruined by that one mistake."

Dean charged at him and grabbed him by the throat. He was stunned when he found he could actually move him. He had wondered before if Crowley's incredible strength was actually his own or because he was king, and now he had his answer. Crowley was weaker, the same as any run-of-the-mill demon, which meant Sam was even stronger now he was king.

He pushed him against the wall, knocking books off of the shelf beside him with the force. He brought back a fist and slammed it into Crowley's jaw. He knew he wasn't hurting him as much as he would have had he been a human, but it was enough to sate some of the need for violence in him.

"You ruined my brother!" he shouted. "I will kill you!" He released him and rushed to the desk for the demon knife that was there. Before he could grab it, Bobby snatched it away and held it behind him.

"Not yet, Dean!" he said harshly.

Dean grappled for it, but someone grabbed him from behind and held him back. He knew from the dry voice in his ear that it was Crowley. "You don't want to kill me yet, Squirrel. I can still help."

"Help!" Dean gave a high, disbelieving laugh. "You want to make me a demon, too, maybe?"

"No," Crowley said, "I am pretty sure that's impossible now. Sam will never let you be admitted to Hell, as he won't want an eternity of you, so you're off the rack forever now."

Dean was furious as he felt tears burn his eyes. He sagged in Crowley's grip and let his breath slow.

"You can let me go," he said. "I'm not killing anyone."

"I don't think I'll risk it, thanks," Crowley said.

"Wait," Bobby said. He went into the hall and Dean heard a heavy door clanging closed. He guessed Bobby was stowing the knife in the new safe they'd fitted. When he came back into the room and said, "It's gone," Crowley released Dean.

Dean swiped a hand over his face, smearing the tears that had fallen. "Did you open the Devil's Gate?" he asked, hardly caring about the answer.

"Well, what did you expect me to do?" he asked. "Metatron took out nearly all my topside troops. I really had no choice."

"And now my brother has hundreds to lead," Sam said.

"Thousands, actually." Crowley said. "Not that it really matters. What matters is you. You say 'your brother' but that's really not the case anymore. You need to get it through your head that Sam is gone. He's not got a demon riding him; he actually _is_ a demon. There is nothing left of the person you knew in him. _Your_ Sam is just a memory. He is loving his life. Let's be honest, there never was much of that on earth. He had the Cage years, true, but since Lucifer was taken, there would never have been happiness for him again. Sure, it hasn't exactly worked out well for _us_ , but for him it's a serious improvement."

"I'm supposed to be happy that my brother is loving life as a demon?"

"No, you're supposed to see that your brother is gone. It's a whole different animal we're dealing with here. He's not nearly as stable a leader as I was, and he's even more dangerous. He needs to be dealt with."

"How?" Bobby asked. "We never actually managed to take you out."

"Let's be honest, you never really tried that hard. I was a treat to deal with."

Bobby scowled. "Sure. You've been lying to us all this time, opening Hell Gates and turning Samintoa Mark addled demon, but you're a treat."

"I didn't lie," Crowley said. "I omitted some truths."

"You lied," Castiel stated.

He shrugged. "Okay, I lied. Sue me. I was doing what I thought was best. If you remember, Sam was doing what he thought was best when he killed Lilith, too. We've all made mistakes. I'm here to help now."

"How are we supposed to trust you after everything you've done?" Chuck asked quietly from his place at the table.

"How about because I am here!" Crowley said. "I should be in the land of kilts and good whiskey right now, nowhere near America, let alone in Sioux Falls with you ingrates, yet here I am, risking it all to help."

Dean considered. He knew there was nothing altruistic about Crowley's presence, but he was as motivated to deal with Sam as any of them could be. He had more dedication to the cause than Dean even. No matter what he had become and what Crowley said, Sam was still his brother. Would he really be able to hurt him to save everyone else?

"What do we do though?" Bobby asked. "If Sam could depose you, we have no chance with him. We only stopped Lucifer because he fell in love with Sam. We would have been powerless otherwise. I don't see him falling in love again."

"No," Crowley said. "But there might be something we learned from Lucifer that could work. You still have the rings, right?"

"The horsemen's rings?" Dean asked, understanding at once. "You want to send him there?"

"Yeah. I think that's our best chance. It's not even that bad for him. He'll just go back to the Cage. Sure, he'll be alone, but so was Lucifer and he managed. He's skilled enough now to be able to control his environment, so he can create a brand-new Hell to enjoy. All the souls he could want. He could even create some company. I think it's the most humane way to take care of him. He'll be safe and it'll be safe for the rest of us, but he won't suffer, which I know matters to you lot."

"Isn't there another way?" Dean asked hopefully. "Can't we maybe get the Mark off of him and back on Cain somehow? You said he was handling it. He could take it back and Sam would be himself again."

Dean wouldn't admit it aloud, but that was still a hope for him. He wanted his brother back somehow. He still wasn't ready to give him up for good. Not even to the Cage where he could be happy.

"That's an awesome idea," Crowley said, and Dean's heart leapt. "There's only one problem. He won't let us. For Sam to lose the Mark, he would have to give it up willingly. I guarantee there's no chance of him doing that. He'd lose the Blade, too, and he's like an oversized crack-whore for that thing."

Dean turned away as another hope was dashed.

"How do we get him in the Cage though?" Castiel asked. "He will not go willingly."

"That's the part I haven't worked out yet," Crowley said. "I was hoping your little brain-trust would come up with something."

Dean didn't want to even try, but he forced his mind to try to think of an answer. If this was the only way, the best way for Sam, it was what he would have to do. He could think of nothing though. He was without an idea of even where to start.

"Shame we locked away Dick Roman really," Crowley said. "He might have had a chance against Sam—if he hadn't been a murderous, cannibalistic chomper that is. We'll come up with something though, I'm sure."

"We need to do it fast," Chuck said. "Sam said he'd be keeping an eye on me. He could be listening even now." His eyes darted around the room.

Crowley moved to the window and peered out. "He's not. That was always his spot for watching Dean on the talking board, got a good view of the room there, and he's not out there."

"You knew about that, too?" Bobby growled.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "I am a demon. What did you expect me to do? Tip you off and risk the ire of the Blade-toting Knight?"

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't matter anymore. At least I know the truth now." Though he had preferred the lie; Sam as a ghost was infinitely better than Sam as a demon.

Bobby seemed to be thinking hard on something. He was staring at Crowley as if he was assessing him. "You know, if you want to prove you're on our side, you can do something for us."

Crowley nodded. "Sure, what do you need?"

"Castiel's grace," Bobby said. "We know where it is."

Crowley frowned. "How?"

"Sam told Chuck; Chuck told us."

"And you don't think maybe it's a trap?" Crowley asked.

"No," Dean said. "Sam wouldn't kill us. I don't mean he wouldn't because it's us." He added in response to Crowley's incredulous look. "It's just he's had the chance a few times now, more for me since he was screwing around as a 'ghost', and he never has. I think he prefers us alive and suffering."

"You're probably right," Crowley said. "He thinks killing humans is tacky. He'll torture the souls on the rack, and massacre demons, but he's not stooping to lower himself taking the easy kills."

"He hasn't killed a human?" Castiel asked.

"Nope. Like I say, he has standards. Anyway, where is this grace supposed to be?"

"Oratorio della Nunziatella, Foligno, Italy."

"Ah, Italy," Crowley said happily. "I love the Italians. They make some of the best deals—impetuous, you know, passionate."

"Will you take us?" Dean asked.

"Sure, grab your passports, we're going on a trip."

Castiel raised his hand. "I don't…" Before he could finish, they had left Bobby's.

They arrived in a chapel lit by only candles. The altar was the most decorated Dean had ever seen, surrounded by gold. The walls were painted with some of the most beautiful frescoes Dean had ever been near. He noticed none of it. He was fixated on Crowley who was looking around with amusement.

"Catholics," he said derisively.

"Where's the grace? Can you sense it?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Don't you want to absorb the experience first?" Crowley asked. "Take all that refined culture in?"

"No," Dean said bluntly.

Crowley sighed. "Pleb." He walked to the back of the room where there were glass cabinets with displayed books. He punched through the glass—apparently too good to pick a lock—and took out a heavy book.

Castiel walked over to his and examined the spine. "Dante?"

"The Divine Comedy," Crowley said. "He picked the right name at least." He flipped it open and Dean saw the book had been hollowed. "Almost six-centuries old, and he cuts a hole in it," Crowley said scathingly. "No respect for classic literature."

Dean wasn't interested in Crowley's complaints. He was fixated on the vial of swirling blue-white light. Castiel's grace.

Castiel reached for it automatically and Crowley pulled it back. "No snatching."

"Please," Castiel pled. "Give it to me."

With an indulgent smile, Crowley handed it to him. Castiel stared at it for a moment and then dropped in to the floor. The glass broke, and the light brightened considerably. Dean covered his eyes and squeezed them shut, listening to the high whine in the air. It disappeared, and he heard a slow breath drawn.

"It's over," Castiel said. Dean noticed that his voice was different. It was a little deeper, and it seemed to hold some of the old power he hadn't realized was missing.

Dean opened his eyes and watched as Castiel grasped the cast on his arm and squeezed it. The plaster crumbled and fell away to the floor. He flexed the previously-injured arm and smiled, satisfied. He straightened his back and the shadows of huge wings spread across the walls, then he made a strange movement with his hand and a silver blade slid into it.

"I thought Metatron took that," Dean said.

"He did. But my blade is a manifestation of my grace. As long as I have grace, I will be able to recreate it."

"Awesome," Crowley said. "Everything else working okay? You got the senses and all?"

"I can sense you, if that's what you mean," Castiel said. "And I can see your true face again. It's still hideous."

"You picked up a little snark as a human," Crowley said. "I like it."

"Shall we go home?" Castiel asked.

"Yep," Crowley said. "Hold onto your hats, you're traveling with Crowley Airlines."

"Actually," Castiel said smugly. "I can take care of it."

Dean felt the swoop in his stomach as Castiel swept him away, smoother and less disconcerting that traveling with Crowley.

Bobby looked excited when they arrived back in his library. He turned to Castiel and asked hopefully. "Did you get it?"

Castiel raised his cast-free arm and nodded. "I did."

Bobby rushed forward and hugged him. "Welcome back, Cas."

"It does feel good," Castiel said. "And it's better. I can sense more now. I feel there are two demons in the room, even without seeing them, and I will be able to sense the power of Sam if he gets close."

"That's handy," Bobby said with a wide smile. "Because Chuck might have just come through for us."

Dean's eyes snapped to him. "What?"

Chuck tugged his collar. "I _think_ , and I'm not sure, but maybe I _might_ have _perhaps_ found a way to get heaven open again."

Dean ran at him, swept him out of his chair and lifted him off the ground in a hug. "Chuck, you're a damn genius!" he bellowed as he set him down. "I love you!"

"I said maybe," Chuck said.

"And might, and think, and perhaps," Dean said excitedly. "I heard you, but we've been running on empty for so long that this is the best news I've heard in months."

"You're pretty excited for someone that _knows_ his brother is gone," Crowley said suspiciously.

"Yeah, because we might have lost Sam, but he can save the rest of the world from the demons," Dean lied. "It's all we can hope for now."

Crowley looked appeased but Bobby unsure as he appraised Dean. Dean knew he probably couldn't fool him, but in that moment, he didn't care. Lucifer was coming back, and if anyone could reach Sam, make him Sammy again, it was the archangel.

There was a chance.

* * *

 **So… Cas is an angel, Eric has his head sewn on, and the angels might be on their way back. Productive chapter, right?**

 **A plea for help:** **I need a little assistance. I am working on a story that is currently set in the early eighties. How do you think hunters found cases before the age of the internet? Would strange stories appear outside of local newspapers? Have any of my writer-readers had this question themselves?**

 **Jenjoremy, Gredelina1 and I have a few theories and I wondered if anyone had any others for me. It's a point that's slowing my writing down.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	29. Chapter 28

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Eight**_

Sam was bored. He understood why Crowley had spent so much time hanging around and annoying them before, because being around demons was even more annoying. Sam guessed he and Dean must have amused him a little with their constant crises.

A demon was currently standing in front of Sam's new and improved—and higher—throne. It was perfectly built for him instead of the child-sized chair Crowley had used. She was complaining about some assumed affront. Sam had thought he'd made it perfectly clear that he wasn't interested in this petty crap, but apparently the message hadn't spread far enough. He would have to do something about it.

"He set hunters on me, sir. He told them I was the one to massacre the family, and I wasn't. It would have been me, but he beat me to it. I know he's older and one of your favored, but…" She trailed off.

Sam raised a hand. "Hold up. What do you mean my favored?"

The demon shifted from foot to foot. "He said he was your newest confidant."

Sam snorted. "How dumb are you? I don't have favored, and I sure as hell don't have confidants among demons. Or anyone actually now Crowley is gone, and it was a stretch to call even him that. All I have is Bob, and you don't count do you, Bob?"

She shook her head from her place beside his throne. "No, Sir. I definitely do not count."

Sam knew from her response that he had chosen the right demon to be his assistant. She was competent, helpful, and she knew the right thing to say at the right time. She really was a treat. Absolutely an improvement over Dean who never knew the right thing to say, when to shut up, and was about as competent as a chocolate teakettle.

"And apparently you missed the meeting… What do they call you?"

"Fiona," the demon supplied, simpering up at Sam and annoying him further.

"Well, Fiona, you didn't get the memo. I don't give a crap about your problems. I have none of my own now and I don't want you demons trying to give me yours. You're killing my buzz, and it was an awesome day. I tell you what I am going to do, though. Come here."

She walked towards him as he stood and picked up the Blade from its place leaning against the side of his throne. She seemed to realize what was coming for her, as she took a step back, but Sam was already in motion. He shoved the blade through her throat and watched with satisfaction as the light danced over her body.

He pushed her from the Blade onto the floor, and nodded, satisfied. "That's better. Like scratching an itch." He stretched his arms above his head. "I think I'll take a look around the Pit. See what's going on. Bob, get rid of this for me." He toed the corpse. "It's cluttering the room."

"Of course, Sir."

He stepped around the corpse and hummed to himself as he left for Hell.

* * *

The howls and screams were like music to his ears; they relaxed him. He associated the sounds with pleasure, and they worked like a balm against his annoyance.

He passed through the cells, amused when the souls backed away from him. He liked that they recognized him, associating him with torment. He had probably worked on all of them by now. He liked to try someone new as often as he could. The first one-year deals had started to be sealed, so he would have brand new subjects soon enough.

He went to the rack of one of the more imaginative demons, David. He was showing real promise; the fact he had been an actual artist in his human life was a bonus. He was teaching a younger demon the art of the razor, guiding her cuts, and he heard the annoyance in his voice as he said. "That's all wrong. You've made him look cross-eyed. He won't be happy. "

"He won't," Sam agreed.

Both David and his apprentice turned quickly, and the apprentice started to shake. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean… I will fix it."

Sam walked past him and examined the recreation of his own face on the soul's stomach. They had taken to praising him by copying his image on the souls in the form of cameos in flesh. He liked it usually, some of them were quite skilled, but this one wasn't. He _was_ cross-eyed, and that was something he had never been accused of in life, despite his other flaws.

"I don't like it," he said slowly.

"I'm so sorry, Sir," David said quickly. "I tried to show her, but…"

Sam held up a hand and the demon immediately fell silent. "I don't blame you David. The insult wasn't yours. It was _hers_." He fixed his eyes on the other demon who quailed under his glare. "Was it intentional?" he asked. "Did you think it would be funny?"

"No, Sir! I swear! It was just my lack of practice."

The Blade twitched in Sam's hand. He wanted to plunge it into this demon. He resisted the urge though. It wasn't an intentional slight on him. It was a mistake that would never be made again. His glower quickly became an indulgent smile.

"Perhaps you should stick to usual methods of torture next time," he suggested. "Learn some new styles of writing, calligraphy maybe. I would be just as honored seeing my name in flesh as I would my face." He clapped her on the shoulder. "I appreciate the attempt though."

He walked away, thinking that his decision to not kill was a sign of his self-control. He could have killed because the Blade wanted to, but he hadn't. He had refused it. He was the one in charge of everything; not just Hell now, but himself, too.

* * *

He decided to make a visit to Singer's home next, check in on them and see how Chuck was doing with his mission of distraction. He set himself down in the yard and tensed at once. There was power in that house, immense power. He had never felt it before, and it made him uncomfortable. He advanced to the house slowly, peering through the window as he heard Castiel say, "Dean you should eat something."

His first reaction was shock. Castiel was there, but he was drastically different. He was lit with some inner power, a blue-white glow. He also thought he saw shadows of wings behind him that moved with him as he shifted. He was an angel again.

Sam had no idea how they'd managed to retrieve his grace, but it amused him that they had. If it meant Castiel was now a fair target, it was great. He wouldn't kill for no reason, but if Castiel bothered him, he would strike fast. He would be interested to see how it felt to kill an angel as opposed to a demon.

"I don't want to eat," Dean snapped. "I want Chuck to do something useful and get us something helpful off of the tablet.

Sam looked past him and saw the prophet look up from his spot at the table. "It's not as easy as just reading, Dean."

"Why not?" Dean asked. "It's just words, right? God language, sure, but you can read that."

"If it's so easy, you try!" Chuck said irritably.

"I would, but in case you've forgotten, I am not the prophet here. Only you special types can read it."

Chuck glowered. "Exactly. I am the only one that can, so give me a break and let me work. If I find something, you'll be the first to know."

"Whatever," Dean spat.

"Leave him alone, Dean," Castiel chided. "Chuck is doing his best. We all are."

"Your best?" Dean said sarcastically. "Yeah, that's really impressive. You got your wings back, but you've done nothing helpful since—apart from go on a beer run."

Sam smiled, amused. It seemed they were all working to plan. Chuck was keeping them nice and distracted while Dean was consumed with the idea that there might be something useful on the tablets.

"What do you want me to do?" Castiel asked. "It's not like I can fight Sam. I am doing my best to help. What else can I do?"

Dean turned away, not answering, and Bobby spoke up. "You can't blame Cas for this. Perhaps if you hadn't given Sam the Blade back when he was withdrawing, he wouldn't be a demon now."

Dean glowered. "And if Cas hadn't let Metatron take his grace, there would have been no need for him to take the Mark in the first place."

"That wasn't Castiel's fault," Bobby said, "If you had listened when Cas first warned us about the Mark, then it might not have come to this."

"Sure, blame me," Dean said. "I've only lost everything in my world that makes sense, but let's pile it on a little more, make sure I feel like a real asshole for what I did."

Sam covered his mouth to muffle a chuckle. They were turning on each other. Dean, the chosen one, was arguing with Bobby. Castiel was standing up to his hero Dean at last. Even Chuck was following the script to Sam's success.

He gave them another week before they were really tearing each other's throats out. It was really kinda beautiful.

Sam was a happy king.

* * *

"We've lost it all, too, Dean," Bobby said angrily. "You're not alone in suffering. You need to…"

"He's gone," Castiel interrupted.

Dean sighed with relief. He'd found that hard. "Thank God. I was running out of shitty things to say."

"Did it work?" Bobby asked,

"Yes. I heard him laugh before he left. He was fooled."

Bobby nodded, satisfied. "Nice plan, Cas. You did good."

Castiel smiled. "Thank you."

They had realized early on that Sam would be making return trips to check on Chuck. They couldn't all move to the panic room to hide from him, as that would be too suspicious, so they had agreed that when Castiel sensed him, he would tip them off with the innocuous words about Dean eating and they would adlib from there. Thankfully, it had worked perfectly. Sam's laugh proved he was happy with what he had seen.

"I'm sorry I was such an asshole, Cas," he said. "You couldn't stop Metatron taking your grace, I know that."

"And you couldn't have let him die by not giving the Blade back," Castiel said. "We all understand."

"It wouldn't have killed him though," Crowley said, coming down the stairs and into the library, trailed by Eric. "He'd have just lost his mind, and he's gone properly nutso now anyway."

"We didn't know that though," Bobby said. "And what's done is done. At least we didn't tip him off this time."

"And no one got their arm broken," Chuck said. "I call that good."

Dean nodded. "Nice acting there, too, Chuck. I almost believed you really hated me,"

"Method acting," Chuck said. "I really do hate you. I hate you all."

"Way to sugarcoat it," Bobby said.

Chuck sighed and raked a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, but it's hard, you know, to not hate you. I know I am doing this for the good of all mankind, but this is going to kill me, and I never wanted to be a hero. Sam is going to end me when he finds out what I've done, and contrary to all outward appearances, I actually do like my life. I don't want Sam to eviscerate me, or chop my head off, or do whatever he's been doing in the Pit to the souls."

"Carving faces into flesh," Crowley supplied. "He's actually quite talented."

Dean rolled his eyes as Chuck blanched. "Very helpful, Crowley."

"I'm just saying," Crowley said. "Anyway, where were we before Sam interrupted?"

"Chuck?" Bobby prompted.

Chuck ran his hands over his face. "I hate you all so much right now. But here's what I have. I actually saw something while we were tearing each other apart for Sam's benefit. You know I found the mention of 'freeing the faithful'? Well here's something else. It says we need the 'life giving blood of a martyr soul' and 'a fraction of what was stolen'. The martyr part is the most obvious, but also kinda impossible."

Dean scowled. "Kinda? Blood tends to dry up pretty fast after death, and since you have to die to actually become a martyr we're screwed. Unless we wait for Jesus to make another appearance. He might ante up some of the red stuff for us. I mean, Christians have been waiting two thousand years for his return, so it should be soon, right?"

"It doesn't need to be Jesus," Castiel said. "There are many martyrs."

"Okay, but my point about the blood still stands. How are we supposed to get their blood?"

"We'll find a way," Bobby said. "We have no choice." He watched Castiel for a moment. "Cas, what are you thinking?"

Castiel blinked and seemed to come out of his own head. "I was thinking of Dean."

"That's not at all creepy," Dean said. "You often think about me when you're staring into space?"

Castiel frowned. "Only sometimes."

Crowley snorted and Dean scowled.

"I was thinking that you could be the answer we need though. You are a martyr."

Dean frowned at him. "No offence, Cas, but I truly don't give a shit about your dad. In fact, I would happily shiv Him in the ass if He was standing in front of me right now for all the crap He's pulled."

"Nice visual," Chuck observed.

"Thanks," Dean replied. "My point stands though. No matter what you might think about me, I don't actually have a martyr complex. And I don't have a religion."

"You do though," Castiel said. "Sam is your religion."

"Huh?"

"Protecting Sam is your base drive," Castiel said. "It is your belief that doing that is your responsibility in life. You died to bring him back after he was killed in Cold Oak. You were a martyr to your love for him."

Dean shook his head. That wasn't right. Sure, protecting Sam was everything, but he had failed that so many times it couldn't be his religion. He wouldn't have screwed it up so many times if it was. That was just him being a good brother.

"Yes!" Chuck said excitedly. "I know you, Dean. I have been watching your life for years. I know what makes you tick and how you feel. I saw every word you spoke to Sam's body in that cabin. I know what you meant."

"We are not talking about that!" Dean growled, the memories piercing him like a knife. He couldn't let his mind go there.

"We don't have to talk about it," Chuck said. "But you have to see we're right. You are a martyr because you died for Sam. You are the second piece of the puzzle."

Dean looked at Crowley, expecting to see some backing for him, but Crowley was nodding thoughtfully. He caught Dean's eyes and said, "They're right, you know. And you _do_ have a martyr complex. I'm just saying."

"Great," Bobby said. "We have the first step, what about the other stuff—the bit of what was taken?"

"I think I have an idea for that, too," Castiel said. "I think we can all agree that, despite the magnitude of what was lost when the angels were taken, that Lucifer and Sam were the most tangible part of it for us."

Dean nodded. He had never been surer of anything in his life. Sam and Lucifer absolutely represented the loss for him.

"And I think as we're the ones casting the spell, it can be what we lost as much as the world. So we need something that represents them."

"What do we have though?" Bobby asked. "All we have is some of their old clothes, and they're not exactly something either of them would value."

"Maybe Lucifer left some hair in a comb," Crowley suggested and was ignored.

"The pictures," Castiel said. "They had them in the motel room, their home, and it actually is a physical representation of them. Dean was even convinced that it was enough for Sam to tether to as a ghost."

Dean's hand came to the pocket of his shirt. He had been keeping the photograph there since he realized that was what Sam was tethered to. He wanted him to be able to come to him at any time. Then, when he saw the truth, he kept it close because it was a piece of Sam and what he had lost. It had reminded him of what he'd once had in his life.

He took it out and held it up. "I have it here."

Chuck looked miserable. "Then you have everything you need. Do me a favor, make sure you play Dink's Song at my funeral, okay?"

"You said there were three ingredients," Dean said. "What's the third?"

"A piece of the first spell's sacrifice," Chuck said. "That's you, Cas. You need to give a portion of your grace to the spell."

"I can do that," Castiel said.

"I know." Chuck buried his face in his hands. "Can one of you kill me? Put a bullet in my brain or something. I think that's much more preferable than what Sam will do to me.

"We won't need to," Bobby said.

"You really will. I'm not brave enough to do it myself."

"I mean you won't need to because Sam won't get at you. When this is done, you can have another archangel on your shoulder. Gabriel will step up, I'm sure, and protect you."

Chuck didn't look particularly comforted. "Sure. That'll work."

"It will," Castiel said. "You can have an army of angels with you if that's what you need. You will be safe."

"I really think I'd prefer the bullet to Sam."

"Sam won't touch you," Dean said. "I promise."

Chuck shrugged. "Sure."

Dean thought Chuck was probably thinking of every time he had seen Dean fail to keep a promise like that before. He shouldn't have said it. If there was anyone that knew how useless he was at protecting people, it was Chuck.

"Either way, we're doing it," Bobby said. "So let's get it done. Is there anything else we need?"

"Just the flame of Heaven and some Enochian magic words. I think the flame of Heaven is holy fire. You'll need to burn the picture, blood and add in Castiel's grace while saying the Enochian."

"My grace first," Castiel said. "I need someone with a steady hand. You have to make the smallest cut in my throat to free the grace, not too deep or I will lose too much or die. And not too shallow or the grace will not flow."

"Not it," Chuck said, raising a shaking hand in front of him to demonstrate his unsuitability.

"Nor me," Crowley said.

"As if we'd let you even try," Bobby scoffed. "I can do it, or Dean."

"You do it," Dean said. He wasn't feeling particularly steady himself, and he didn't want to be the one to screw it up for the rest of them.

Castiel went to the kitchen and rooted through the drawer. He came out with a jar of some herbs. He tipped the contents into the bin and rinsed the jar. "This will hold it until we're ready." His angel blade dropped into his hand and he gave it to Bobby.

Bobby moved closer to him and brought up the blade to Castiel's throat. Castiel looked serene, completely trusting as Bobby made a shallow cut in his throat. It wasn't deep enough though, Dean could tell, and after taking a deep breath, Bobby pressed the tip of the blade in a little deeper. Blue-white grace flowed out, and Bobby lifted the small glass jar to it and it flowed inside. He capped it as Castiel ran a hand over his own throat, healing the small wound, and took back his blade.

"You're up, Dean," Bobby said, going to the cabinet and pulling out a copper bowl. He put it on the table and set down the grace beside it. He went back and retrieved a jug of holy oil and poured some into the bowl.

"Use my blade," Castiel said. "It will keep the wound, and therefore the blood, as pure as it can be."

Dean cut across his palm, wincing as the razor-sharp blade cut deep into his flesh, and then held his hand over the bowl to drip blood inside.

"That's enough," Castiel said when there was a pool of blood in the bowl. He took Dean's wrist and held his hand over Dean's wound. It burned a moment as the skin knitted together. He took the photograph and put it into the bowl. Sam and Lucifer's faces were quickly concealed by the blood and holy oil.

Chuck scrawled a note on a piece of paper and handed it to Castiel. "This is what you'll need to say."

Castiel took it and matchbook from the cabinet then moved to stand over the bowl. "Are you all ready?"

"More than," Dean said as Bobby nodded.

"Sure, why not?" Chuck said. "Goodbye, cruel world, and all that."

"I think I'll skedaddle," Crowley said. "Lucifer is probably going to be unreasonably annoyed when he gets back, and I'd rather be elsewhere."

"Go," Dean said, knowing that if and when Lucifer wanted him, he would find him without trouble. Crowley would be punished for his part in it soon.

Castiel waited until Crowley and Eric were gone and then he lit the matchbook. He tossed it the bowl and recited the Enochian Chuck had written for him. "Odo oiad nisso. Christeos booapis nenni oiad lama!"

The flames lit up, brighter than ever before, and Bobby dragged Castiel back before the flames could take him out. There was a high-pitched whine in the air, and Dean's breath caught in his throat. He looked around the room, waiting for the longed for sound of an angel's arrival, but here was none. The fire died and the whine stopped.

Dean's heart sank. It hadn't worked. He hadn't realized how hard he was clinging to the hope until it was gone. He now felt he'd been hollowed out and filled with acid. There was nothing left. They had all failed this time.

"Well that worked out great," Chuck said bitterly. "I'll take that bullet in the brain now if you don't mind."

"You'll be fine," Bobby said, though he didn't sound confident.

"I'm going to bed," Chuck said. "Call me when Sam gets here. I wouldn't want to keep him waiting." He stomped out of the room and Dean heard him climbing the stairs with heavy footfalls.

"Dean," Bobby said quietly.

Dean wiped a hand over his face, only then becoming aware that he was crying silent tears.

"I'm going outside," he said.

"I'll come," Castiel said.

"No," Dean said sharply, then softened his tone. "I need to be alone for a while. Please."

He didn't wait for a response from either of them before leaving through the back door and trudging across the porch to the yard. He sank down onto the steps and hid his face in his hands. He was in a kind of pain that he embraced. He felt that he deserved it. This should have been him. He should have taken the Mark, and then Sam would have been okay. Eventually, he would have found some way to save Dean. He was so much smarter, and he would never have stopped looking. He would have succeeded where Dean couldn't.

He didn't know how long he sat out there, face hidden, but he felt the moment the warmth flashed across his hands. His eyes snapped open and he looked up at the sky, seeing the orbs of light streaming from the sky to the earth, like slow shooting stars across the night sky.

"Bobby! Cas!" he bellowed, lurching to his feet.

They rushed out onto the porch and their mouths dropped open.

"It's working," Dean said in a breathy voice. "Do you see? It's working. His voice rose to a shout as he punched the air. "Thank you, God! It's working!"

He stared around, waiting for the moment Lucifer would come, needing it so much.

It seemed to take forever, but then there was a flutter, like sheets in the wind, and he was there. Lucifer was finally there. His eyes were alight with some inner power and his body seemed to crackle with energy as he looked at them. Dean's eyes burned with hot tears and his blinked them away.

"Where is Sam?" Lucifer asked intensely.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. His relief that Lucifer was finally there was overwhelming, but knowing he had to break his heart was painful. He couldn't find the words.

Bobby cleared his throat. "He's gone."

* * *

A demon rushed into the throne room, chest heaving and eyes wild with panic. "You have to come! You have to come!" he rasped.

Sam raised an eyebrow as he looked up from the book he was reading. "I don't _have_ to do anything. And you will call me Sir."

"Sir," he said quickly. "You must see this. It's terrible."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure I have done worse," Sam said in a bored tone.

"It's the sky," the demon said. "It's happening again."

Sam sighed. "If you mean it's going dark, that's what happens at nighttime. The sun will come back in the morning. Don't worry."

"Sir, please," he pled.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine. But if this doesn't interest me, I will turn you into a headless hat-stand."

"It will interest you, Sir. I swear."

"Because you know me so well," Sam said.

He gestured to Bob to follow before getting to his feet and walking out of the room, through the hall to the battered front door. He pushed it open and walked out into the night air.

He sucked in a breath. The sky was alive. Small orbs of light were streaming to the ground, the reverse of what had happened when Lucifer was taken.

"Oh, shit," he sighed. The little assholes had actually done it. The angels were back.

"Is it the angels, Sir?" Bob asked.

"Yes," Sam said. "Probably every meddling, disgustingly devoted, hopelessly romantic one of them." He considered a moment. "Bob, fetch David. I need him. Tell him to bring his razor."

"His razor, Sir?"

"Yes. I need some new body art."

Bob looked confused but quickly darted away.

Sam stared up at the sky and muttered. "You better stay away from me, Satan. I swear you'll regret it if you don't."

* * *

 **So… Lucifer is back! Long time no see. I am ridiculously happy to have Lucifer to play with again, even though that playing is going to involve some pretty brutal heartache.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	30. Chapter 29

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredelina1 for supporting and encouraging.**

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Nine**_

Lucifer was sitting on the beach of the heavenly version of Membata, staring out at the ocean. He had been in the same place and position for what felt like an eternity. He had come here to drown his grief in memories. With each sunset, he remembered the nights spent resting with Sam after a long day of sharing the angels' history. With each dawn, he remembered starting a new day with him. They'd had over two centuries together and it wasn't enough. They shouldn't have left the Cage. They would never have been parted if they hadn't. He would have been enjoying an eternity of Sam's presence if they were still there, not an eternity alone.

Though he did not appear to be alone now. In the far distance was a small boat bobbing on the waves. Lucifer watched as it made slow progress toward the beach, the dirty white sail flapping in the wind. As it drew close, the sail was lowered and oars dipped into the water. Lucifer watched a man rowing himself towards the beach. When the boat was in shallow water, he climbed out and dragged it onto the beach. He was older than Lucifer had thought, his weathered face tanned and lined. He was strong and virile though, and managed to draw the boat high enough out of the waves that it would not be swept away.

He looked at Lucifer and frowned for a moment before turning away and picking up a basket of fish from in the boat and a leather bag. He walked a little further down the beach from Lucifer and set down his bag and basket. There were three fish, red snappers, and he quickly laid them on a leather swatch he had taken from his bag. He took out a knife and begun to slice off the head of one.

Lucifer watched him curiously, surprised at the man's appearance. Though the heaven belonged to him, he had never seen the man himself up close; he had only watched his boat in the distance.

"Would you like to help?" the man asked.

"What?"

"You look like you need something to do," the man said.

Without thinking, Lucifer got to his feet and walked toward the man. He knelt opposite, and took the offered knife.

"Cut the head off this last one for me," he said. "Just behind the gills."

Lucifer obeyed, and the man nodded his approval as he took back the knife and ran it down the back of one of the other fish and scooped out the innards.

"I am Micah," he said.

"Lucifer."

"That's an unusual name," he said.

"It means light bringer."

He nodded thoughtfully. "It's a good name, too. It suits you."

"I don't know about that," Lucifer said. "I seem better suited to bringing darkness."

"I don't believe that. I think you are in an inner place of darkness, but that does not make you dark,"

Lucifer shrugged. "I hurt people."

"We have all done that before. It's impossible not to." He set aside his filleted fish and reached for another. "I don't know why I catch so many. I don't have anyone to share them with now."

"You did before?" Lucifer asked, curious about the man. It was a surprising feeling after all this time of emptiness of all emotion. He didn't think he had been truly curious since Sam, when he had needed to know every detail of him, and each detail made him love him impossibly more.

"I did," he said with a fond smile. "Such a big family. I don't see them anymore."

"What happened."

He sighed. "That is a very long story."

"So is mine," Lucifer said.

"I made a mistake. As I said, I had a large family, but my four first children were the ones I knew best. I loved them all, but I loved one more than anyone. No father should admit to that, I know, but I did. He seemed to be the best and brightest of them all. Such a pure heart."

"What happened to him?" Lucifer asked.

"I let him down," he said shamefully. "I made a choice that I thought was best, and I tried to force him to accept it, though I suppose I knew all along that he would be unable to because of what I had already burdened him with. He rebelled against me, and in my anger and frustration, I had him cast out of our home. He became so angry, so distant from us all, and hurt me more than anyone. I couldn't see then that it was the fault of us both; I blamed him alone. He changed so much he became unrecognizable from the person I had known. I see now that I did that to him. I watched him though, more closely than I should perhaps because it hurt me so much to see what he did. And then he changed."

"He changed?"

"Yes. He became better than he had even been before, brighter. He loved more than I thought was possible for anyone. I had thought he was irrevocably ruined, but he wasn't. It was too late for us though, and I never saw him face to face again. I knew he could never forgive me for what I had done, and to see my beloved son turn away from me was too much for me to bear. I didn't dare go to him, though I wanted to more than anything."

"I know how that feels," Lucifer said, thinking of how he knew he could never allow himself to face his father again after what he had done. "I failed people more than once. I hurt them, people I cared about and people I didn't even know the names of. I hurt the man I loved more than I have ever and will ever love more than anything in creation. I let him down."

Micah tilted his head to the side. "How?"

"I told him I would always be there for him, but I wasn't. The reason wasn't my fault, but that doesn't make it any easier to accept. I should never have made him a promise that I couldn't keep. He has suffered so much because of it. It has killed him."

"Do you really feel that it is your fault?" Micah asked.

"Yes. I failed him. I sometimes wonder if I should ever have let him love me at all. His life would have been better if I never declared myself. He would have forgotten me eventually, and he would have been better for it."

"I don't believe that. Though love can hurt us, it can also bring us immeasurable joy. Perhaps the love you shared was worth it to him. It was for me with my son. No matter how he hurt me, and the guilt I hold for hurting him, I can never regret loving him. Even though I hurt more now because I lost him."

Lucifer felt a warmth building in his chest. He almost didn't recognize it for what it was, as it had been so long since he had felt it. He had once shown it to Sam, wanting him to understand what he'd once had and why he had hurt so much to lose it. When he realized what he was feeling, he sucked in a breath. It was the touch of his Father.

"What would you do if you found him?" he asked without looking at him.

"I know where he is," Micah said. "I have always known. I have lost my place in his heart though."

"And if you knew you hadn't lost him?"

"I would be happier than at any other moment in my long life," Micah said. "I don't think it can ever happen though."

"I think it can," Lucifer said, finally looking into Micah's eyes. They were bright with hope and the love they had held until that last terrible day on which Lucifer had refused to bow, when the love had become disappointment and anger. "I think he can forgive you."

"Do you really think so?"

"I know he can," Lucifer said. "He can forgive if you can, too."

He smiled. "I forgave you a long time ago, Son."

Lucifer felt his eyes burning. "Thank you, Father."

God reached across the forgotten fish and took Lucifer's hand. "I am sorry for what you have suffered and for my part in that. I loved you too much and that made it impossible for us both. I see that now. I love you still."

"I love you, Father." Lucifer reveled in the chance to say the words again. It had been so long. "Can you help me now? Can I be free again?"

"I can."

The sand beneath moved them as the ground shook. The waves crashed into the shore, sweeping the boat back out to sea. Lucifer jumped to his feet and looked around wildly. As fast as it had come, the waves settled into their gentler movements and the ground settled.

"You can go now," his father said, rising to his feet. "Sam is waiting for you, but, Lucifer, be ready. It's not going to be easy for either of you."

Lucifer barely heard his warning. He was consumed with the need for Sam.

"Thank you," he shouted over his shoulder as he ran for the trees.

The door was waiting for him, and he threw it open. He rushed through it and raced through the halls to the gate. He was going to see Sam now. He wondered what his heaven would be and whether he would allow Lucifer to share it with him after what he had done. He would repair what was broken between them by his failure. He would love Sam until he could love him in return again. He would do whatever it took to make him happy again.

He skidded to a halt beside the wide-open gates that the souls were streaming through. They seemed to sing with happiness at their longed-for admittance to Heaven. Lucifer searched them for Sam, knowing that he would recognize it at once. Sam's soul had always shone so bright.

A hundred voices clamored around him, angels praising their freedom and spreading their wings wide to feel the ease of movement again. Some were nervous, wings quivering at the sudden change.

"Lucifer!" an excited voice shouted behind him. "How did you do it?" Gabriel clapped him on his shoulder and turned him to face him. "I thought you had given up. I couldn't find you."

"It wasn't me," Lucifer said distractedly, turning back to the gates, waiting for Sam. He still hadn't appeared.

"Then who was it?"

"Father," Lucifer said, an unconscious smile curling his lips.

"Father!"

Lucifer didn't hear him though. The souls were slowing, coming fewer now, and Sam wasn't there. "He's not here," he said to Gabriel as the last soul slipped inside.

Gabriel frowned. "Father?"

"No, Sam. He should be here."

"What? Why?" Gabriel asked, stunned.

Lucifer closed his eyes. He hadn't told Gabriel about Sam's last prayer; he didn't want judgment of Sam for what he had done or to make it real to anyone but himself. If Gabriel didn't know, Lucifer didn't have to talk about it. Now he had to though, as Gabriel needed to help him search.

"I think Sam died," he said quietly. "I heard a prayer from him and it sounded like he had given up; he said to forgive him and that he was coming. I've heard nothing since."

"Lucifer," Gabriel whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you might judge him harshly."

"How could I do that when I see how much you have suffered? It would have been no different for Sam. I am sure that if you could have been reunited with him by killing yourself, you would have. I understand perfectly."

"I'm sorry," Lucifer said. "I misjudged you. You're right. I would have done anything, sacrificed everything to be with him again."

"Even me?" Gabriel asked with a smile. Lucifer's face fell. "Don't tie yourself up in knots trying to explain," he went on. "I know your answer already. I understand, too. I have loved you, Michael and Raphael, and Father, but I haven't felt the kind of love you have for Sam. I have only ever wanted you to be happy. If I could have helped to reunite you, I would have done anything."

Lucifer wondered what he had done to incite such loyalty from his brother. He loved him all the more for it. He was the best of them all.

"Thank you, Gabriel," he said.

Gabriel clapped his hands together. "Anytime. Now, Sam's not here, obviously, so we have to think where he could be. You said he stopped praying after that admittedly ominous message. Maybe he failed. He could have been too ashamed to tell you that he wasn't coming after getting your hopes up, Or…" He bit his lip.

"Or what?" Lucifer asked.

"What if he's not capable of prayer anymore? He could have injured himself enough that he has been incapacitated completely but alive. Castiel is dead. He wouldn't be there to save Sam, and so Sam could be trapped somehow."

"A coma?"

Gabriel nodded. "That's one option."

"What's the other?"

"That he is damaged but awake. The humans' bodies are so fragile and their minds so delicate. He might be unharmed physically but mentally closed off. I would have been surprised if he managed to kill himself as it is. Dean usually takes far better care of him than that."

Lucifer thought of all that Sam had been through in his life, all the times he had been injured because Dean hadn't protected him. This was different though. Dean would know his suffering and would keep close watch over him. Hateful as it was, he had to hope Sam was mentally shut down. That would be the easiest option, as he could perhaps heal that by being with him again.

"I have to find him," he said.

"Yep. And you know just where to start. That den of iniquity, Bobby Singer's place. I'll deal with the masses that are having their little agoraphobic reaction to freedom, and then I'll come enjoy the reunion. Try not to say anything too cute till I get there."

Lucifer laid a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "Thank you, brother."

"You're welcome," Gabriel said. "Now, go get your guy."

Lucifer spread his wings fully for the first time in months and took flight. He set himself down outside Bobby's Singer's house, seeing Dean on the porch with his head in his hands. Lucifer knew at once that Gabriel was right. Sam was incapacitated, and Dean was despairing because of it. He might fail to take care of Sam on occasion, but he never failed to love him and fall apart when he was hurt.

He felt a thrill of excitement though and his wings crackled with energy. He was so close now.

"Where is Sam?" he asked intensely.

Dean's mouth opened, and he seemed to be on the verge of speech for a moment, but then he released a choked sob and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Bobby cleared his throat and Lucifer noticed him and Castiel standing on the porch for the first time. How Castiel was alive was nothing to him as he awaited the answer from Bobby.

"He's gone."

 **So… God. That was different, right? I think the scene between him and Lucifer was my favorite of the story so far.**

 **A version of the God/Lucifer scene was written by Snarkymuch, Though I have expanded the idea and rewritten completely, there may be some bleed still.**

 **In case you missed it: I have been writing a S13 AU this week. It's called Homecoming and diverts from around the end of 13.21 - Beat The Devil.**

 **Summary:** Lucifer was the creature that haunted Sam's dreams, the one that had tortured Sam and almost destroyed his soul. He was the one offering Sam what he wanted more than anything in the world. He was also the one creature Sam swore he would never say yes to again. All it would take was one simple word and Sam would be with them again. It was the one word he couldn't say. AU from 13.21

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	31. Chapter 30

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. You're a star. Thank you also Gredelina1 for helping and supporting.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty**_

 _Bobby cleared his throat. "He's gone."_

"He can't be," Lucifer said. "I waited at the gates. I would have recognized him. Tell me where he is!"

He marched past them and into the house, calling for Sam. He wasn't in the kitchen or library and the couch was empty. He wondered if perhaps they'd been forced to hospitalize him. They wouldn't want to, he knew, but it could have been necessary if Gabriel was right and he had injured himself catastrophically.

Dean, Bobby and Castiel followed him in, their faces solemn, and in Dean's case, tear-streaked.

"Where is he?" he asked again.

"We don't know!" Dean said through his tears. "He's probably in Hell."

Lucifer took an involuntary step back. "No!"

It couldn't be possible. Though it explained why Sam hadn't come to Heaven, Sam could never belong in Hell. He had done too much good in his life. Though he had killed Lilith and set the world on a path to destruction, his intentions had been good. He had saved the world by loving and taming Lucifer. Surely that canceled out his mistake. And, contrary to what some religious groups believed, suicides didn't automatically go to Hell just because they had taken their own lives. It was a lifetime of actions that decided someone's destination, not one choice. Sam was a good man and he belonged in Heaven.

Perhaps Lucifer should go back, search harder, mobilize the garrisons to help. He could ask God. He would know and save him, whatever happened.

"He's a demon, Lucifer," Castiel said solemnly.

Lucifer gave a harsh laugh. That was even more impossible than Sam being in Hell. He had been gone a matter of months, nowhere long enough for Sam to become a demon. Perhaps that was what they _thought_ had happened, but it just wasn't possible. Sam was not going to be transformed into a demon in that short of a time, no matter how he had suffered. It took centuries.

"It's not a joke," Bobby said.

"It really is," Lucifer said. "Sam cannot be a demon. It's just not possible."

"It is with the Mark of Cain," Castiel said quietly.

Lucifer felt frozen to the core. His ears rang, and he swayed for the first time in his eternal life and fell back onto the couch. It couldn't be true. Sam couldn't ever know about that, let alone have it. He had kept it to himself all their years together, never wanting him to know that crime. He hadn't wanted to talk about that—about how he had passed on the first curse born to the universe to someone that had been an innocent. It was among the greatest of his crimes, and he had never wanted Sam to know his shame.

"Sam has the Mark?" he asked, terrified of the answer.

"Yes," Dean said. "He's a Knight of Hell now."

Sam a Knight? That was even worse than him being a demon. Knights were force and power and will. They were among the darkest creatures he'd ever created. And now, because of his shame and secrecy, Sam was one, too.

"How did this happen?" he asked.

"Cain gave the Mark to him," Castiel said.

"But why?"

"I don't know why Cain gave it up, but Sam wanted it so he could kill Metatron," Castiel said.

"The Scribe? What does he have to do with anything?"

"He was the one to seal you all in Heaven," Castiel said. "He did a spell, taking my grace, and it stole all angels from earth but him. I was human, so that's why I stayed. Sam knew that to get you back he needed to get the information from Metatron, so he made himself stronger so that he could. Crowley came and said there was a weapon that would kill an angel, and Sam trusted him. One night, when Sam was at the motel, Crowley came and took him to Cain. We didn't know, I didn't know, what the weapon was, so I couldn't warn him. When Sam came the next day, he had the Mark."

"You let him do this!" Lucifer roared, rising to his feet and advancing on Dean.

Bobby shouted, and Lucifer rendered him mute with a wave of the arm. Castiel stepped between them and Lucifer brushed him aside, moving intimidatingly close to Dean. To his credit, Dean didn't quail away from the angry archangel; he stood his ground.

"I didn't _let_ him do shit! I guess you've been away so long you forgot who it was you loved and what he was like. He came to you to save me after all. He went to the hell to be with you. Sam was a man possessed. He wouldn't listen. He barely spoke at first. When Crowley said there was a way, he only cared about getting you back. I wanted to stop him. I was going to take the weapon, save him from that darkness, but I couldn't. Crowley took him in the night. I didn't stand a chance!"

"You should have found a way!" Lucifer growled. "You were supposed to protect him. I trusted you, Dean. I was trapped there, but I had hope because I thought you would take care of him."

"I tried," Dean said, his voice breaking and fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. "I would have, you know I would, but I couldn't. It was too late."

"You couldn't even keep him alive!"

"I did everything to keep him alive," Dean said. "We took the Blade away, but it was killing him. It was worse than withdrawal. I was sure he couldn't have survived it."

"You gave it back!" Lucifer said incredulously.

"To save him," Dean repeated.

"It wouldn't have killed him. He would have been fine. The Mark would not have let him die like that."

"You didn't see him. I did. I watched him suffering until neither of us could bear it anymore."

"You watched him suffer?" Lucifer asked harshly. "Don't you mean you locked him up and listened while you drank your cares away?"

Dean drew a sharp breath. "I stayed by his side."

"For the first time in your life," Lucifer spat.

Dean shook his head. "I've made mistakes and I've let him down before, I know that, but I didn't leave him this time. I was with him and I saw him dying—I _thought_ he was dying and so did he—and I did what I could to save him."

Lucifer shook his head, incensed. Dean had failed so spectacularly and Sam had paid the price. His Sam, the pinnacle of everything good in his life, the man he loved, was gone. He was a demon, a knight, and Lucifer didn't know how he was ever going to make it right. Sam was ruined.

He waved a hand and the red-faced and furious Bobby filled the air with his shouting. "…and you didn't warn him!" He seemed to realize he could be heard again and he began to vent his rage. "What did you expect Sam to do? You were trapped, and he needed you back. You were gone, and _we_ had to watch him falling apart. We love him, too, and we watched him slip away from us. He was changed, and he _hurt_ us, not just emotionally but physically, too. He is the darkest, most evil son-of-a-bitch we have ever seen, and it's worse because we still love him. I look into those black eyes and I can still see who he was, which makes this all impossible. So, you can be angry, blame us if you need to make yourself feel better, but you have to know we are not the ones at fault here. You are! You gave Cain the Mark in the first place, and now it's on Sam!"

He broke off panting, and Lucifer felt his shame rise. It _was_ his fault. He had let Sam down, not just by letting himself be trapped, leaving him behind, but by not telling Sam the truth in the first place. And for him to be the darkest they had ever seen, in their long life of hunting, facing Azazel, Alastair, Lilith, Lucifer himself even… it was impossible to imagine.

"What has he done?" he asked.

"He choked Bobby half to death," Dean said. "He broke Castiel's arm. He killed Geoffrey, cut his head off—and some other demon's. He told a woman to stay in a burning building while the smoke choked her and her children and the fire worked its way closer." He took a breath. "He's been torturing souls in Hell. He even deposed Crowley. He is the King of Hell now."

Lucifer shook his head, awed. He never imagined Sam would have that kind of darkness in him, even as a demon. He had killed Geoffrey! He was one of the most talented torturers, almost on level with Alastair. Sam was a whole new animal now.

He covered his face with his hands and bellowed raw anger into the air. The windows rattled and rain pelted the ground outside as thunder rolled. Lucifer's fury and devastation was being rent through three states in the form of a massive storm surge.

Chuck Shurley burst into the room, his face white. "What the hell is… Oh. Lucifer."

Lucifer looked at him and anger surged again, making a bolt of lightning touch down on the ground outside. This prophet would have seen it all happening, and he had done nothing. He could have warned them.

"Chuck," he said dangerously.

"Hold up," Bobby said angrily. "You can't blame him for any of this. He's the only reason you're here now. You should thank him."

"Thank him?" Lucifer asked disbelievingly. "For dragging me back to _this_! The man I love more than anything in the world, worse than dead! A demon! What thanks is that deserving of? I should kill him."

"Lucifer," Bobby warned, stepping between him and the prophet.

"It's okay," Chuck said, gently pushing Bobby to the side and facing the furious archangel. "Go ahead, Lucifer. Kill me. Please. Whatever you do will be nothing compared to what Sam is going to do when he finds out I helped get you back."

Lucifer hesitated. "Are you truly that scared of him? Of Sam?"

"Yes," Chuck said emphatically. "I know Sam as well as most anyone here. I have followed his life and heard his thoughts for years. He is not the same man. He is a monster now. I am terrified of him."

"See?" Bobby said, satisfied. "This is what we've been trying to tell you. Sam is changed."

"He doesn't have to be though, does he?" Dean said hopefully. "You can fix him now you're here."

Lucifer raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know."

"You have to!" Dean said, seemingly oblivious to the fact Bobby and Castiel were watching him disbelievingly. "You owe him. You owe us!"

Did he really think Lucifer didn't know that? He owed Sam more than he had ever and would ever owe anyone anything in his endless life. He had saved him in the realest way. But what could he do? He knew demons better than any person here, and he had no idea how he would fix that damage. There was no way to repair a demonic soul to what it had been before. The person was gone.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted.

"You have to know!" Dean shouted. "You're the only shot we've got left."

"There is no way to… cure… a demon," he said. "The damage is absolute."

"Then get rid of the Mark," Dean said. "You take that away, then he'll just be a demon. He won't be so bad. Crowley was never as bad as him. Then we can work on the rest."

"The only way for him to lose the Mark is if he was to give it up to someone else," Lucifer said. "I don't imagine he will do that willingly. It cannot be wrested away from him."

"But it's your Mark," Dean said. "You made it. You have to be able to control it."

Lucifer shook his head. "I didn't make the Mark. That was my Father's doing."

Bobby looked stunned. "God created the Mark! Why would He even touch something so dark?"

Lucifer turned away. "God did not just create the world as your bible would have you believe. Before the light, there was us. God created us archangels first, soldiers for His war."

"Who the hell was He at war with?" Bobby asked as Castiel frowned. He had not heard this version of the story before.

"The Darkness," Lucifer said. "God had a sister. As He was lightness and creation, she was darkness and destruction. Everything He tried to create, she destroyed, until He made us, the archangels, strong, intelligent, and dedicated to His vision. He went to war with us as His lieutenants and we won. We beat The Darkness and He created a lock and key for it and gave it to me to protect. It was the very first curse."

"The Mark was yours?" Dean whispered.

"Yes. I bore it first. You cannot imagine how hard it was for me to bear, how hard it is for Sam now. The Mark, The Darkness, had a will of its own. It began to corrupt me, and I wasn't strong enough to fight it. I changed. When my father created humans, it was the final straw for me. After everything I had given to Him, He asked us to bow to _you,_ humanity. I was furious. I couldn't do it. And you know the rest. He cast me out. Then humans failed, as I knew they would. Cain and Abel were born, and I saw my chance to do something for myself. I spoke to Abel, pretending to be God, and tricked him. When Cain realized what I was doing, he offered himself in his brother's place. I finally had something for myself. I could rid myself of the Mark. I made a deal. I passed on the Mark and was free of it at last. But I was not healed by its removal. I was too far gone. I remained too far gone until Sam came into my life, as you know."

"So, this Darkness, it's dangerous." Dean said.

"More than me, than Sam, more than anything you can imagine. Look at what God has done to the world on occasion and imagine that He was not the one that loved you. Imagine He despised you and the universe as a whole. I cannot even try to take the Mark from Sam without siphoning it into someone else, because to do it would be to set her free. I would do that if I thought there was a world for Sam to live in after, a heaven, hell or anything in between, but there would not be. There would not even be The Empty. There would be nothing left. I would no sooner do that than I would kill him. As a demon he at least has some form of life."

"That's not a life," Dean said.

"It is for him," Chuck said. "You've seen him more than I have, but even I saw he was happy when he came to me. I've got to say, I would rather see him as King of Hell than in nothing, even if the idea of uncreation is tempting for me right now compared to what's coming."

"We told you, Sam's not going to get you, Chuck," Bobby said. "Lucifer, tell him will you. We can protect him."

"You cannot protect him," Lucifer said, and Chuck nodded knowingly. "But someone can. I will have Gabriel protect you. As a prophet, you are entitled to an archangel's protection, and as we're the only two left, it will fall to him. I will be busy.

"Doing what?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Doing what I can for Sam. I have no plan yet, no idea of what to do, but I will do everything in my power to find a way to save him." He drew a breath. "First, where is Crowley? I want to know his part in this from his own mouth."

"You're killing him, too, right?" Bobby asked.

"Definitely, in time. I want him to suffer first though. And everything I know about that particular demon makes me think that breaking him with pain is not the way to do it. I will find a way to hurt him and then, when he is begging for an end, I will wait. Only when I am satisfied that he is truly broken will I kill him."

"Sounds good to me," Bobby said. "We don't know where he is though. He was here, but when he knew you were coming back, he disappeared pretty quick. I'm sure he's worked out some way of blocking your summons. He said Sam had a hex-bag, so I bet he has, too."

Lucifer shook his head. "There is no way for an ordinary demon to block a summons from me. He has lost his status and power as king, so he will have to obey my call."

"Good," Dean said moving to the cabinet and pulling out herbs, candles and a bowl. He set them on the table and began piling the ingredients inside. Lucifer walked to the table and drew his blade. He cut across his palm and dripped blood inside the bowl. Dean handed him a matchbook, but Lucifer shook his head. With a flick of his fingers, the candles were lit and a small flame burst to life in the bowl. He chanted the summoning spell and Crowley appeared in front of him. There was a pause, long enough for Crowley to visibly pale, and then a second demon appeared. He had clearly been decapitated recently and crudely sewn together again.

"Sire, what happened?" the second demon asked. "I thought we were staying away because…" He trailed off as he looked from Crowley to Lucifer and then he paled too. "Oh. Lucifer, I mean sire. Lord Lucifer even. Our—"

"Leave," Lucifer said darkly.

He nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir. I will do that now." He disappeared and Lucifer turned his eyes on the other, most hated demon.

"Crowley."

Crowley gulped. "I don't know what they've been saying, but I swear I was just doing what I thought was necessary to bring you back to Sam, Lucifer, I swear."

"Quiet!" Lucifer snapped.

Crowley mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

"You are responsible for so much suffering by what you have done. I do not believe for one moment that you did it to benefit anyone but yourself. I would like to kill you now for what you have done, but I need you first."

Crowley looked relieved at the mention of need. His cunning brain was surely, even now, thinking of a way he could use that need for his own advantage, at least for his own sustained existence.

"Where is Sam?" he asked.

Crowley wilted. "I don't know for sure."

"But you have an idea," Lucifer said.

"Maybe Massachusetts. There's an old asylum in Fall River that I used as my court. I think Sam would probably have taken it over when he usurped me. If he's not there, I'd try Hell. He likes the racks."

Lucifer closed his eyes. The racks. Sam actually enjoyed the racks.

He at least had a couple of places to start looking, though what he would do when he found him he didn't know. He just knew he had to see him, to look into black eyes and see if there was anything of the man he'd known left in there.

"Why can't I sense him?" he asked.

"I don't know," Crowley said. "Honest. Castiel could feel him when he arrived to check in on what was happening. If he's disappeared now, it's new."

"He has the angelic encyclopedic education," Bobby said. "He must have learned something from you."

Lucifer nodded. He couldn't think of a way Sam could have used what he'd taught him though.

"Thank you, Crowley," he said mildly. "Now, you're going to take yourself down to the panic room and you are going to stay there until I decide what to do with you."

"I don't think you–"

"You don't think," Lucifer interrupted. "If you did, we would not be in this situation now. If you don't want to take yourself there, I will carry you down. I am trying to give you some dignity. Take it." That wasn't technically true. He really didn't want to touch the demon; he already felt contaminated enough by his presence alone.

Crowley hung his head as he walked out of the room and stomped down the steps. Lucifer followed him, seeing him into the room and trap, and then clanged the door closed and slid the bolts into place. He opened the hatch and peered inside. Crowley was sitting on the edge of the cot, his eyes fixed on the door.

"Sit quietly and think of all the ways I am going to make you pay, Crowley," he said. Crowley blanched and Lucifer smiled. He wasn't remotely the mild-mannered archangel now, he wasn't Sam's Lucifer, he was the Devil and he allowed his eyes to glow red as he said. "I have a very good imagination, Crowley. Remember that."

He snapped the hatch closed and walked away.

It was time to see Sam.

* * *

 **So… Lucifer is back and he is** _ **pissed.**_ **The Sam/Lucifer reunion is coming next, so that should be fun.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	32. Chapter 31

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me, and thank you Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty-One**_

Before he left Bobby's house, Lucifer called Gabriel to watch over them all. He didn't stay to explain what had happened. He would leave it to Dean and the others to share. He didn't want to see Gabriel's sympathy or hear the whole story again; once was enough for his eternal lifetime. He would happily wipe it from his mind if he could. No matter how this ended, even if he did manage to get Sam back, it was going to haunt him a long time.

The Needham Asylum was an old building of grey brick that was only outstanding because of the sheer amount of protection it had. Not physical, the gate was held together by a bicycle lock, but the walls were coated with layers of Enochian protection sigils. Lucifer looked up at them. Some were old and painted on, but some were newer, carved into the brick. He marveled at Sam's quick work. He had only been back on earth for a couple of hours, and yet it was well done. Sam must have had assistance from other demons. The fact there were now demons with the knowledge of how to block an angel's passage wasn't the best news to him.

He looked up at the sigils and waved his hands in the air in a sweeping gesture, and they were wiped clean. Even the carved sigils were smoothed away. He was free to enter.

When he pushed open the doors, he realized there were no demons present anymore. Knowing how Crowley had liked to keep minions around him and sure Sam would like the same, he guessed Sam had moved on, despite the protections in place. Though perhaps it was not wise to judge Sam by Crowley. Sam was far more intelligent, and as he had proved, much crueler.

He walked through the halls, smelling the lingering scent of sulfur that large groups of demon left in the air. There were double doors at the end and Lucifer walked towards them and pushed them open. The room was long, and there was a throne set at the opposite end. There were stone pillars and even a few shelves that still held rolled scrolls and candles. They had left in a hurry.

On the high-backed throne was a scrap of yellow paper. Lucifer went forward and peeled the gummed paper away. The words written on it were in a familiar hand. He had seen the handwriting many times since their return to life. Sam would leave him notes when he left the motel without him. He would sometimes leave them in Lucifer's pockets for him to find when he dressed. They always bore some mark of love. He had found himself searching his pockets each time he dressed, hoping to find the pearl in the oyster.

There was no mark of love on there this time. There were just six words that Lucifer read aloud. "I think we need a break."

There was a laugh from the corner, and Lucifer froze. He knew that sound. He had heard it countless times over the years. Often when they were with Dean, when he showed his uncanny knack for humor when it was—and sometimes wasn't—needed. He could always make Sam laugh, even if sometimes it was more of a groan at a particularly bad joke. He had heard it more in the Cage. When Sam had found a uniquely shaped shell or stone on the beach, when Lucifer had told him the lighter stories of his life with Gabriel, when Lucifer had made him happy. This laugh wasn't soft and happy though; it was mocking.

Lucifer turned and saw Sam step away from the corner. He was wearing a grey suit with a bulge in the jacket that he supposed was where Sam kept The First Blade. He tried to focus on the beloved face alone, but the demonic visage beneath made its presence known. It wasn't like other demons, who bore the face of their human corpse. It was still Sam, just darker, shadowed, and without the gentleness he had always shown. It was cruel and mocking.

"I completely agree," Sam said. "I think we need a break, too."

"Sam," Lucifer said mournfully as Sam walked fully into the room and towards him.

"Satan!" he said happily. "I'd say it's good to see you, but it would be a lie."

Sam never called him that. He hated the name Satan as well as Devil, Beelzebub, and every other slur that had been cast at him over the millennia. He had never even let Lucifer use those names himself, reminding him each time that it was who he had been, not who he was anymore, kissing the words from his lips. He used the name now because that was who he saw.

As Lucifer looked back at him, he saw the hatred, loathing even, in Sam's eyes, and he felt his heart break. Some part of him, some unacknowledged weakness, had told himself that he would be able to heal Sam. By taking away his heartbreak over their separation, he had thought he could bring Sam back to something like had had been. They could have worked from there, with a Sam that wanted to be saved. He had been wrong.

He forced away his sadness and tried to see Sam as an opponent instead of his lover. It was almost impossible, but he found it marginally easier when he looked at the true face beneath.

"Why can't I sense you?" he asked.

Sam unbuttoned his shirt and opened it to reveal his chest. It was marred with deep, red scars in the shapes of Enochian sigils.

"They go right to the bone," Sam said. "You won't be able to wipe them away this time."

The pain it must have caused to carve into himself like that, even for a demon, was incredible. Sam must have been in agony. To think of him in pain was bad enough, but to think that he had done that to himself to hide from Lucifer was abhorrent.

"You won't be able to find me either," Sam said. "Thanks for the tip. I can only imagine the kind of pain in the ass you would be had you been able to follow me around the earth. It's good to know I can put all that bullshit you taught me to use."

"I got through your warding outside," he said. "You didn't learn enough to stop that."

"I was a little short on time after fixing my new body art. That was just supposed to slow you down a little. Sure, I was hoping it would work, save me from this conversation, but I guessed you'd get in. I admit, for all your multitude of faults, you're not a complete dumbass."

"If you didn't want to see me, why did you stay?" Lucifer asked.

"Because I knew that, sooner or later, that this conversation was coming, and I might as well get it over with. Besides, it's always better to do things face-to-face. I wanted to see you change when you saw what I had become. I wanted to see the hatred in you that I feel."

"I don't hate you, Sam. I could never do that."

"You should," Sam said. "It would be easier for us both if you did." He sighed. "As much as I hate it, I do know you, Satan, and I know how your mind works. Right now, you're probably tallying the difference in the man you knew and the demon I am. You're trying desperately to think of a way to 'save' me. There is no way, and I do not need to be saved. I am happy now, happier than I ever was with you or Dean dragging me down, reminding me of my mistakes every damn day with your presence alone. I see now that those mistakes were actually just steps to reaching this place, my full potential. From the blood dripped into my mouth as a baby, to being stabbed in the back by Jake, to the moment Lilith died and you were freed, it was all leading to this place. I am who I was always supposed to be. I am something new, free, and happy."

"You are not new, Sam. You are something very old. You're a Knight. Your creation was because of a choice I made."

"Then I guess I owe you my thanks. It was a good choice."

"It was a mistake," Lucifer said.

"You're seeing it all wrong," Sam said. "You were following a plan set in place since the dawn of the universe. Everything led to this moment. To you and me here together one last time."

"It won't be the last time."

"I hope for your sake it is," Sam said. "Like I said, I owe you. I don't want to have to repay you by killing you."

Lucifer swallowed down the choking pain in his throat. "I love you, Sam."

He laughed. "Are you seriously going for the power of love approach? Really, I thought you were smarter than that. That might work if I still loved you, but I don't love anyone anymore. Not you, Dean, Bobby or Cas. My mother, my father, they were just a means to an end. Their job was to get me here so that I could be this now."

"You think the universe has been created just you can be a demon?" Lucifer asked.

"No, the universe was created because God had some time on His hands and no one to play with. The world needs me now though. It's a mess. It needs saving from itself. I am picking up where Metatron left off. He had a good plan, and I'm going to see it through. See, I thought you angels being allowed back was a disaster. I knew I'd have to deal with you again and have them flapping around like eternal pains in the ass. I see now that it was for me that you came back. I can use you all to practice, to hone my skills, develop myself, to prepare for what I must do."

"What must you do?" Lucifer asked.

Sam rubbed the mark on his arm seemingly unconsciously. "You'll see." He checked his watch. "That's unfortunately all the time I have for needy ex-boyfriends today. Actually, it's all the time I have from now on. I don't want to see you again. I don't want to have to kill you. Yet." He smiled cruelly. "Take care of yourself, Satan."

He disappeared, and Lucifer was left standing alone in the dank room. His heart was aching and his mind was tired. He felt he had suffered enough for an eternity in the past several minutes. It had been more painful than being cast out of Heaven, more than being thrown into the Cage. That had just been his family's betrayal. This was Sam's.

He hung his head and took a moment to just be before he went spread his wings and returned to Bobby's house.

* * *

Dean watched Gabriel flop down onto the couch beside Castiel as the air whooshed out of his lungs. His face was slack with shock, and he didn't seem able to string words together.

"So that's what's been happening here," Bobby said. "How was your summer?"

Gabriel shook his head, dazed. "Sam did all that? _Sam!_ You sure he's not just possessed?"

"It was all him," Dean said sadly. "Every moment. Since he got the Mark, he was different, but after he died…"

"Killed himself you mean," Gabriel inserted.

Dean nodded. "After he killed himself, he was a monster. He did all that and probably more than we don't know about yet."

"Wow," Gabriel breathed. "I knew he had some darkness in him, I saw it when you were dead, Dean, but… Wow."

"Yep," Bobby said. "Dean being in Hell was rough on Sam, it changed him, but this is something else."

"Yeah, sure, but I meant when Dean died the first time."

"The first time?" Castiel asked. "How many times have you died, Dean?"

That fact that the question actually made sense to him was, Dean thought, a mark of just how insane their lives were. "Less than Sam," he said.

"Technically, untrue," Gabriel said. "I'm talking about Florida this time, Castiel. Sam's months of endless Tuesdays. When I killed Dean the last time, on the Wednesday, he went off the rails in a big way."

Dean glowered at him, hating the mention of what he had put Sam through then.

Gabriel saw his expression and shook his head. "In case you're forgetting, I was trying to do him a favor. I thought if he could actually accept your death, it wouldn't end quite so bad for him or the rest of the world. As you know, that went to hell anyway. Thank Dad my brother has a soft spot for oversized brunette hunters or it would have gone down a whole different way. What I'm saying though, is that Sam went off the deep end. For six months he lived alone, hunting me down, and he was pretty twisted by the end of it." He glanced at Bobby. "He killed you."

"He did?" Bobby asked.

"In a way, yeah. It was me, but he thought it was you. He thought you had brought him a spell to track me down, but it took a man's whole blood bank to do it. Sure, he had an inkling it was me, but, yeah, he shivved my Bobby-ganger in the heart. Seemed a mite upset when you didn't get up again, though."

"He did that?" Dean asked.

"Yep, he went full on Robo-Sam for six months. I was actually kinda impressed."

Dean felt a jolt of shock. "Six months! He never told me."

"Are you surprised?" Gabriel asked. "You were already bound for the Pit; he didn't want to add to your suffering by letting you know what would become of him when you were gone. I think he did the right thing. Anyway, that's not my point. My point is that _Sam_ Winchester, practically a cinnamon bun since he took up with Lucifer, is now the baddest demon you've ever seen. It's kinda awe-inspiring."

"We'll be sure to get right on that awe part," Bobby said.

"You know what I mean," Gabriel said. "I thought maybe he'd marshmallow completely and shut down, give up, or kill himself in some deluded attempt to be with Lucifer, I never imagined he'd do this."

"He did all that in a way," Dean said. "He 'marshmallowed' at first, and then shut down, and _then_ killed himself. What we're living with now is the result."

Gabriel nodded. "Poor Lucifer."

At Dean's incredulous look, he went on.

"I know you've all been through it, choking and broken bones and fake hauntings, but this actually is Lucifer's fault. He gave Cain the Mark in the first place."

There was the sound of wings whipping through the air as Lucifer appeared. "Thank you, Gabriel," he said.

"Sorry, Bro, but you know what I mean. I'm trying to explain how you feel to the cheap seats."

"There is no need to apologize. I do know what you mean. And you are right. This is my fault. Had I held onto the Mark myself, it would have been different. I would never have loved Sam, but it wasn't like I could get worse than I was."

"You would have ended the world," Castiel pointed out.

"It feels like it already has," Lucifer said.

"But it hasn't," Gabriel said, "This is a tragedy, sure, but the world is still turning. There's hope."

Lucifer shook his head. "For how long though? Sam said something today …"

"You saw him?" Gabriel asked.

"Yes. He was waiting for me at the asylum."

"How was he?" Dean asked excitedly. "What did he say?"

"If you mean did I save him by the 'power of love', then no, I didn't. He said nothing good and he was happy to hurt me.

"Are you injured?" Castiel asked.

Bobby held up his hands. "Wait a minute. That's actually an option? Sam can hurt _you_ now?"

"Possibly," Lucifer said. "He has the power of the Mark making him a Knight, and he has the power of the throne of Hell behind him. I don't think he's realized his full potential yet; he doesn't know the power he holds. I would not like to assume he isn't a threat to me. He definitely is to other angels. What worries me more is that he said. What plan did Metatron have in place?"

Dean frowned, not understanding the impact of the question. "He kicked you all upstairs then killed almost all the topside demons to 'scour' the earth of their taint. He was supposed to move on to humans next, keeping the funny and clever, and 'pure' ones to populate the earth. He wanted to create his own paradise. He got sidetracked when Crowley opened the Devil's Gate though, and let out a buttload more demons."

"Well, Sam seems to have the same idea. He said he was going to pick up where Metatron left off. I think it's safe to assume that he's going to be swapping the spared humans for demons though, and he'll want a few humans left to take to Hell to entertain him on the racks. But the good, the Heaven-bound will be killed. He plans to 'practice' on the angels, to hone his skills."

"This is unbelievable," Dean whispered. "Sam can't do that."

"I assure you he can," Gabriel said. "He can probably do worse. We should be grateful he's not got a better imagination."

"What could be worse?" Bobby asked.

"I don't know," Gabriel said. "My imagination isn't that good either. My best Trickster ideas came from the Weekly World News. Maybe he could choose to not spare _any_ humans."

"A handful of evil humans left on earth and that's what we're supposed to celebrate!" Bobby growled.

Dean buried his face in his hands. This was incredible. Painful. Wrong. This was Sam.

"What do we do?" he asked, his voice muffled.

"We get Chuck back to work," Lucifer said, looking around the room. "Where is he anyway?"

"Probably hiding under the bed," Dean said. "He's piss scared right now."

"Well, someone go and get him. He needs to get to work on the tablets. The spell that locked us in Heaven was something I'd never heard of before. The tablets contain the Word of God. They might have some other way to deal with a demon."

"You mean kill?" Castiel asked and Dean's head snapped up.

Lucifer rounded on him, his eyes furious. Dean thought he saw a red gleam in them, but when he blinked, it was gone.

"Not kill," Lucifer said. "Save. Gabriel, you take Chuck home and watch over him. He needs a protected place to work in peace. Tell me the moment he finds anything. I will listen for you. Castiel, I need you to talk to the other angels. Tell them they are not to approach Sam at any cost, understand? They must stay as far away from him as they can. It will be hard, as he has successfully shielded himself from us, but if they see him, they are to flee at once."

Castiel nodded. "Of course."

"And the rest of us?" Bobby said. "What do we do?"

"Keep yourselves safe," Lucifer said. "When Sam—the real Sam, our Sam—comes back, he is going to need you all."

"That's it?" Dean asked. "We're supposed to leave it all to you?"

"Yes," Lucifer said. "All you can do it try to reach him with love, and as we have already been shown, that won't work. We have to try cunning and force now."

"And if that fails?" Gabriel asked. "Will you kill him?"

"No," Lucifer said brutally. "And I will kill anyone else that tries."

Dean nodded. On that at least they were agreed.

* * *

 **So… Poor Lucifer. That was pretty damn rough. He's not given up on Sam though. While he's still working the problem, there's a chance, right?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	33. Chapter 32

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for giving your time to beta this for me. Thank you Gredelina1 for giving support and encouragement.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty-Two**_

Sam went straight from the asylum to Bobby's Singer's house as he thought Lucifer would be distracted having his little pity party for a while and there was something he wanted to do; someone he needed to see.

They were all gathered in the library, Dean, Bobby and Castiel and, amusingly, Gabriel, but none of them realized he was there. He peered through the window, listening as they told Gabriel the story of how he had become what he was now. It was entertaining to hear them angst over what had happened when it was the single greatest thing in his life.

He saw no sign of the prophet. He didn't assume that meant he wasn't there though. He checked the upstairs bedrooms and found Chuck curled up on one of the beds, a pillow over his head and his breaths coming fast. Sam smiled to himself. He was good and scared, which was what Sam wanted. He drew the blade and just looked at him, wondering where to strike.

The voices rumbling downstairs changed as Lucifer returned, and Sam was distracted listening to them. Chuck groaned and pulled the pillow and little closer to his face, drawing Sam's attention from the conversation downstairs. He watched him, the Blade clenched in his hand, deciding between another decapitation or something a little more exotic, when he heard footsteps on the stairs and Gabriel's voice calling, "Wakey, wakey, Chuck. We're going on a little trip."

As Chuck began to shift the pillow, Sam quickly moved himself from the room to the basement. He heard someone shifting around in the panic room. His curiosity piqued, even though he thought he should probably leave since there were two archangels there, he carefully and quietly opened the hatch and looked inside. Crowley was sitting on the edge of the cot. He rushed to the door when the hatch opened and peered through. Sam ducked so his face was in view. Crowley's eyes widened as he saw who was there and looked on the verge of speech, but when Sam pressed a finger to his lips, Crowley snapped his mouth shut.

Sam was amused that he had been trapped already. He had thought the former King of Hell would have a little more ability to evade Lucifer. What was the point of being alive so long if you didn't educate yourself? It was pathetic. Crowley should have taken advantage of Castiel when he was human and plucked what knowledge he had from him before killing him. Neither Bobby nor Dean—nor Sam when he was alive—would have been in a position to stop him. It might even have been fun for Crowley, better than the endless paperwork he usually occupied himself with anyway. He really was a poor excuse for a demon, let alone a king. Sam planned to have a lot more fun with his reign.

Crowley seemed to be asking something with his eyes, but Sam didn't know what it was. Perhaps he thought Sam would let him out. He was wrong if he thought he would. Sam had spared his life once. Now he saw why. Lucifer would be wonderfully imaginative when it came to ending Crowley's life. Sam was aware he was still a little too impetuous when it came to killing. He would have rushed it. Crowley needed to suffer slowly.

He gave Crowley the thumbs up and then waved before he disappeared. He thought he knew where his prey was going to be next, and he would wait for him to get there, unprotected but for Gabriel, and then he would have his fun.

He arrived at Chuck's house before Gabriel and Chuck. It was in the same state as when Sam had visited last. The bottle of whiskey Chuck had been hugging before was still on the couch.

Sam had lived through some less than stellar times as a human, he'd drunk a lot at times, but he had never used an empty liquor bottle as a teddy. Even for a human, Chuck was a mess.

He waited in the back yard, leaning against the wall as he listened for Gabriel and Chuck's arrival. It came a little later than Sam expected and was accompanied by the clink of bottles. Sam supposed Chuck needed to restock on liquor if he was going to be locked down by an archangel.

"So… Chuck," Gabriel said expansively, "feel better to be home?"

Chuck laughed nervously. "Uh, I'm happier now that I'm not surrounded by anger and grief anymore, but I wouldn't say much feels what you'd call 'better' right now, since I'm pretty sure I'm living with a ticking clock over my head, and Sam has something special planned for me, but yeah, it's good to be somewhere a little quieter."

Gabriel laughed. "You worry too much. You have an archangel's protection now. You'll be fine."

Sam smiled cruelly. He really wouldn't be fine. As for him having Gabriel protecting him, Sam wasn't sure. He didn't know if he had the power to defeat an archangel if he had to. He thought maybe he did, because when he faced Lucifer there had been no fear, just a desire to strike. That desire wasn't Sam's though. It was the Blade's, so he had refused it. He was in control still. He would kill only when _he_ wanted to.

"Go to bed," Gabriel said. "You'll feel better for it."

"Worth a try," Chuck said. There was the creak of springs and a heavy sigh.

"You're sleeping on the couch?" Gabriel asked. "Don't you have a bed?"

"I do, but I figure if you're going to be protecting me, it's better that we do it down here. I'm not sure how comfortable I'd be with you standing in my bedroom watching me sleep all night."

"But it's different for me to be watching you sleep on the couch?" Gabriel asked.

"It's a whole different vibe," Chuck said.

Gabriel chuckled, and Sam smiled. Chuck really was an idiot. God really should have chosen someone a little smarter to be His prophet.

He waited a little longer, listening for Chuck's breaths to fall into the pattern of sleep and more creaks as Gabriel took a seat and then he walked to the window and stared inside.

Gabriel was sitting in an easy chair, a book open on his lap. Sam just stayed a moment, watching him and then he walked in through the back door. Gabriel lurched to his feet at the sight of him and Sam smiled. Gabriel's wings were much larger than Castiel's, the shadows stretching across the room as Lucifer's had. The power that emanated from him was markedly less than Lucifer's though. It seemed Lucifer had picked up a few boosters during his time as the Devil.

As the door swung closed behind him, Sam chanted in Enochian. " _Allar_ _Ioiad._ _"_

He saw Gabriel's wings close into his back, wrapping around him and arching high above his shoulders. They quivered as Gabriel tried to move then, but the spell had done its job. Gabriel couldn't fly away.

"What did you do?" Gabriel growled.

Sam smiled. "Just a little something I figured out. You can't flap off now before we're done talking. The Latin version binds demons, too."

"Clever. Didn't know. What's the plan now? You going to try to screw me up like you did Lucifer?"

"Unlikely. You and I never cared about each other. I think mutual loathing was more our style."

"I never hated you, Sam."

"Weird. I _really_ hated you. As for the plan, I am here to kill Chuck of course. He popped you feathered pests out of the can after all. Sure, it's kinda working in my favor, but I told him not to and he disobeyed me. I don't like being disobeyed."

"You sound like my father," Gabriel said.

"I'm glad you see the similarities, too. That's the endgame after all. To be god of my own little paradise. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do. Feel free to amuse yourself, have a little talk with Lucifer and the rest of your flock if you like. I won't mind if you call for help. This won't take long."

"I don't need help," Gabriel said. "I can handle you alone."

That was what Sam was hoping for. He wanted to get Chuck dealt with and himself away, and that would be complicated if there was another archangel coming for him. He'd deal if he needed to, but he'd rather not be forced.

He lowered his head to Chuck's ear and bellowed. "Wake up, Chuck!"

Chuck jolted awake with a cry of shock and then a groan as he caught sight of Sam. He looked oddly resigned, as if he had known this moment was coming all along. Sam was pleased. He hoped Chuck's knowledge of his impending death had haunted him. He deserved it for breaking his promise. He had brought back the angels, and though Sam saw that it was a good thing now—he needed to hone his skills by killing them—he didn't like that Chuck had disobeyed him. He had said to distract, and Chuck had worked against him instead.

"It's okay, Chuck," Gabriel said. "You're going to be fine."

Sam snorted. "You're really, really not."

Gabriel smiled. "You think so?" He snapped his fingers and Chuck disappeared with a cry of shock.

"How did you do that?" Sam asked.

"I am the Trickster, Sam. I spent a long time screwing with dicks like you. Chuck is perfectly safe."

"Perfectly safe, where?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Like I'd tell you!"

Sam was pissed. He had come with a simple objective, and he hadn't even planned to hurt Gabriel, so why did he have to interfere? What did he care about Chuck? He was just a broken-down old drunk that happened to be able to read God scribble and follow Dean's life. What did he matter?

"I will find him," he said. "He broke a promise, and I hate it when people do that to me. Lucifer did, too."

Gabriel looked hopeful and Sam had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing.

"If you don't care about Lucifer, why does it matter?" he asked.

"It just does," Sam snapped, knowing that was going delude Gabriel even further.

"You still love him, don't you? You love them all. That's why you can't kill them."

"No. I haven't killed them because killing humans is tacky. And killing Lucifer would put him out of his misery. I like him suffering alive more than dead and at peace."

"You're lying!" Gabriel said triumphantly.

"I'm really, really not." Sam said. "I haven't killed them yet, because, like I say, it's tacky. But I'm starting to think that's bullshit after all. You can't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs, and you can't make paradise without cracking a few heads. I am going to finish up here, find Chuck and deal with him, and then I'll start on my renovations. I'm in no hurry. Perfection can't be created in a week." He smiled. "You should mention that to your dad. Now, you can make it easier for us both and tell me where Chuck is, or you can suffer."

"As if," Gabriel said scornfully.

Sam drew the blade out of his jacket and raised it threateningly. Gabriel took a step back with a grimace.

"Scared?" Sam asked.

"No. More disgusted at what you have become," Gabriel said. "That thing is abhorrent, but not frightening to me. I am an archangel."

Sam sighed theatrically. "I thought it was only Lucifer that had an overblown sense of his own importance. I didn't know it was a universal archangel trait."

"Do you know how dumb you sound? You are a demon, with an antique blade, sure, but you're not scary. You're not strong; you're just a corrupted soul."

"I am a Knight!" Sam said angrily. "I am King! You're a pigeon with an ego."

Gabriel laughed. "Do you even listen to yourself? You're pathetic, Sam."

Sam tapped the sharp edge of his blade against his palm. "You know, I didn't want to kill you, Gabriel, but I'm thinking it's the only way to settle this argument now. You can tell me where to find Chuck, or you can die. It's really that simple."

"I guess we'll have to do it the complicated way then, since I have no intention of telling you anything."

Sam shrugged. "Whatever you like. I don't mind really."

Gabriel's archangel sword dropped into his hand, and Sam paused, waiting to see if fear or hesitation would come to him. It didn't. He felt almost peaceful as he swung out the blade at Gabriel's gut, hoping to slice through and eviscerate him in one swoop.

Gabriel was fast to curve his back, pulling his stomach out of range. Sam tried to correct, to drive the blade up at his head, but the force with which he had swung made it impossible. When the momentum had gone, he raised it in front of him and searched for a new place to strike. He aimed for Gabriel's heart, but Gabriel brought his sword up and it clanged up the hilt of the blade and jolted Sam's arm.

Rather than being worried by the strength of Gabriel's weapon, it excited him. He had a challenge at last. The demons he'd hurt and killed were pathetic in comparison. This was exhilarating.

He pulled back his blade and struck again. Gabriel parried, and the fight became a whirl of clanging blades and fierce jabs. Sam threw himself into the fight, loving every moment of it, and was actually disappointed when he managed to hurt Gabriel. In the process of knocking away one of Gabriel's thrusts, the First Blade swept up the sword and managed to slide past the awkward angle of the cross-guard to cut deep into Gabriel's hand. He dropped his sword and the blue-white light spilled out of the wound.

Sam laughed as he kicked away the blade and advanced on the angel. He was in no rush to take the killing blow now. He had all the time in the world.

"Do it then!" Gabriel snapped. "Kill me!"

Sam smiled cruelly. "I will when I'm ready."

Gabriel looked hopeful. "You can't do it, can you? You still love him. You can't hurt him like this."

A surge of rage swept through Sam. What did he have to do to make these people understand? He didn't care!

"He will always love you, too, Sam. He will never give up on you."

Sam leered at him. "I guess I'll just have to try harder then!" He thrust the blade forward, into Gabriel's stomach, and the angel's eyes widened with shock and a trickle of blood dripped down his chin.

"Sam," he whispered.

"Gabriel," Sam said with false apology in his voice. "Thanks for the memories."

He pulled out the blade and Gabriel dropped to the floor, his arms flung out at his sides. Sam stared down at him, feeling the exhilaration and satisfaction of the kill, but it faltered quickly as he saw what was wrong. There was just a corpse in front of him, no shadows of wings that he knew should be there.

He felt the realization that he had been fooled by the Trickster at the same moment he heard the slightest shift behind him. He spun on his heel and thrust out the blade again. It sank into Gabriel's heart this time, impaling him. Sam pulled it back and Gabriel fell back to the floor. This time the shapes of dark wings were spread around him.

Sam wiped the blade on Chuck's couch and tucked it into his pocket. He looked down at the body and smiled. "Really, _this_ memory at least is one I'll savor."

He turned away and saw a stack of Post-its beside the phone. A fun idea coming to him, he reached for a pen.

* * *

The room was quiet. Dean and Bobby were in bed, finally. In Dean's case, it had taken the threat of Castiel forcibly making him sleep combined with a half bottle of whiskey to make him rest. Lucifer and Castiel were alone in the library now. Castiel was sitting on the couch and Lucifer staring out of the window. He told himself he wasn't hoping to see Sam out there, but he couldn't lie well enough to convince himself. He ached for Sam; even just a glimpse of him would be better than nothing. He missed him with every inch of his being. It was worse even than when he had been trapped in Heaven, as then he had believed Sam was protected and well. He could have no idea what had happened to him while he was gone.

He stiffened suddenly as he heard a voice on angel radio that he had been listening carefully for. _'I am sorry, Brother.'_

"Gabriel," he breathed.

He turned to Castiel and saw he looked just as horrified as he felt. When Lucifer spread his wings at his back, though, Castiel held up a hand.

"No! Wait! It could be a trap, Lucifer."

Lucifer shook his head briskly. "What if it is? If Gabriel is hurt, Chuck could be, too! He is our only hope for Sam now. He has to be kept safe."

The idea that Chuck could already be dead scared him. Another prophet would be created, but they would have to find them and explain what was happening while keeping them safe. They needed Chuck.

"Stay here!" he commanded. "Keep Dean and Bobby safe!"

Castiel nodded confidently, even though they both knew that, if Sam came, he was defenseless. If Gabriel had been beaten, Castiel didn't stand a chance.

His wings whipped through the air as he moved himself to Chuck's house.

He cried out with shock at the sight that met him. Gabriel's body was sprawled on the wooden floor of Chuck's house, the charred remains of his wings stretched out beneath him. He had been stabbed in the heart.

"Gabriel, no!" he moaned, falling to his knees beneath him. Outside, thunder began to rumble and rain pelted the windows.

He laid a hand on Gabriel's still chest, brushing away a piece of paper, and a sob built in his chest. It was just a corpse, an empty vessel. His brother was gone. He was alone now. He had a multitude of brothers and sisters still, but he was the last archangel. The only other angel that had truly known him, that had been there from the beginning, was lost. He couldn't bear it. He had lost too much. First his home, then his freedom, then Michael and Raphael, then Sam and now Gabriel. He didn't know how to live without them.

The fact that Sam was the one that had done this reached him, and a new cry slipped from him. He was truly gone. And he was powerful. He had bested an archangel. Would Lucifer ever be able to stop him now? Even if he could, if by some miracle Sam could be made man again, there was nothing that would save him from what he had done. Sam wouldn't be able to cope with it. He would break.

He picked up the piece of yellow paper from the floor and read Sam's one-word message. _'Oops.'_

He bowed his head again, his forehead pressed against Gabriel's shoulder. "No!" An idea came to him and he straightened quickly. "Father! We need you. I need you. Gabriel is gone. You have to help me. Bring him back, please." His voice broke. "I can't bear it."

"Wow, Lucifer, I didn't know you cared so much," a voice said.

Lucifer lurched to his feet and walked toward the miracle image of his brother. His hand stretched towards Gabriel's face, but he brushed it away.

"Personal space, Lucifer."

Lucifer ignored him and yanked him into his arms. He clung to him with all his strength, absorbing the relief. "Thank you, Father."

"Father?" Gabriel said, pulling out of his arms. "He had nothing to do with this."

"Then how?" Lucifer asked, looking back at the body on the floor.

Gabriel snapped his fingers and it disappeared. "Really, Lucifer, do you think I learned nothing from you all those years you taught me your tricks?"

"I was sure…" Lucifer said.

"That's because you're easily fooled," he said. "Sam was fooled, too obviously. I let him 'kill' me twice, just to get the message across. I guess he's feeling pretty proud of himself right now." He looked to the window. "Want to do something about that storm now? You're going to kill someone with that lightning."

Lucifer tried to calm himself and the storm eased to just rain.

"So, was the storm about me?" Gabriel asked. "Or was there maybe a little Sam-angst mixed in."

"It was both," Lucifer said.

"Figured."

"But I am very happy to find you living."

"Ditto. Best of all, Chuck's safe, too. I've stowed him away somewhere nice and safe."

"Where?" Lucifer asked.

He grinned. "North Sweden. I found him a nice little, secluded hidey-hole. He's not overjoyed at the lack of Wi-Fi, but I think he's looking forward to seeing the Aurora Borealis."

"Stop joking around, Gabriel," Lucifer said. "Is he safe?"

"Safer than he has been for a long time, yes. I sent him away when Sam got here, and I've got some reinforcements protecting him now."

"Pagans?" Lucifer said with distaste.

"Don't be a bigot. They're putting themselves out to help us."

Lucifer frowned. "For Sam?"

"I didn't lay that part on too thick. They're not fans of the Winchesters since they've made a habit of killing their friends. I filled them in on the world-ending part though, and that motivated them." He became serious. "Now for the complicated part. You can't tell Team Winchester what's happened. If they know, they might talk about it when Sam is lurking around. They have to think I'm dead if we're keeping Sam out of the loop. Understand?"

"Yes," Lucifer said.

As little as he wanted to lie to them, he knew it had to be done. Castiel was perhaps the only one that would grieve, and Lucifer didn't want to hurt him, but it was necessary. Sam had to remain oblivious to the truth.

"Good," Gabriel said. "Now, go back to them and tell them what happened. I will go to Chuck. He's sleeping now, but first thing in the morning I will have him get to work on the tablet. He'll probably be able to think better when not surrounded by the drama of Singer's place."

Lucifer nodded. He hoped he was right. They needed Chuck to work fast to save them all.

"Thank you, Gabriel. I appreciate what you're doing. Thank your… friends, too."

He spread his wings. "Maybe," he said. "I'm not sure how receptive they'd be to that message from you."

"I truly am very happy you're alive, Gabriel," he said.

"Me too," Gabriel said, flexing his wings and taking flight.

Lucifer looked at the spot the body had lain, trying to rid his mind of the image and pain of it. He failed to banish the pain, and took he flight to be away from the sight at least.

* * *

 **So… That was a close one for Gabriel. He was actually supposed to die, but at the last minute, I decided against. Hope you enjoyed.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	34. Chapter 33

**Thank you Jenjoremy for the fab beta job. Thank you also Gredelina1 for all your help. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty-Three**_

Dean could tell by the position of the sun through the window when he woke that he had slept much later than usual. He wondered if Castiel had knocked him out after all or if it was just his exhaustion finally winning. He stretched and rubbed a hand over his face as he got up and gathered clean clothes from the top of the dresser at the end of his bed. He realized he was on his last change of clothes. He was going to have to do some laundry. It seemed such a simple, regular thing to do that it felt strange to think about it. The fact there were still mundane chores to take care of seemed crazy when there was so much that was drastically wrong.

He shook his head and walked into the bathroom to clean up. As he washed his face, he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked older than he had even a few months ago. Everything that had happened since the angels were first taken had made its place on his face. He was tired looking and wan. His eyes were the biggest sign of change; they barely had any life left in them.

Though it was late, there were no voices speaking in the library when he got downstairs. He walked in and looked from face to face. Castiel looked upset, Bobby solemn, and Lucifer empty.

"What?" he asked. "Is it…?" He couldn't bring himself to say his brother's name.

Bobby shook his head. "Gabriel."

Dean frowned. "What about him?"

"He's dead," Castiel said in a dull voice.

Dean gasped. "How?"

"Sam killed him," Bobby said. "So I guess we got an answer to that question. Sam is dangerous to an archangel, too."

Dean gripped the wall to steady himself. " _Sam_ killed him! Are you sure?"

Lucifer nodded slowly. "He left a note."

Dean closed his eyes as the shock rolled over him. Sam had murdered an archangel. Sure, neither of them were exactly fans of Gabriel since his time as the Trickster, but to kill him… And he wasan archangel. Just how strong was Sam now? Could he beat Lucifer, their best chance for action when they found a way to save him? When Chuck finally cut them a break they would need…

"Chuck!" he said breathily. "Is he okay?"

"He is fine," Lucifer said. "Sam didn't hurt him even. He's obviously scared, but he's alive."

Dean was relieved his friend was okay, and that there was also hope for Sam still. An idea occurred to him. "He was there though?" he asked. "Sam killed Gabriel but didn't even hurt Chuck?"

"Yes," Lucifer said. "He spared him. Chuck is now somewhere safe, working on the tablet still."

Dean laughed weakly, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room.

"What is funny?" Castiel asked disapprovingly.

"He didn't hurt Chuck," Dean said.

"Yes, but he killed Gabriel," Castiel said.

"Yeah. I know he's your brother and all, but he tortured Sam for _months_! He forced him to watch me die a hundred times, and he made him live alone six months, knowing I was in Hell. He had a grudge with Gabriel if not outright hatred for what he did. It makes sense for him to kill Gabriel. But he'd liked Chuck. He had no problem with him. He wouldn't want to kill him."

Castiel shook his head sadly. "You're wrong, Dean. This wasn't some act of mercy or proof that Sam is still good somewhere deep inside. It was a whim. Maybe Chuck begged. Maybe Sam's need for murder was already spent with Gabriel. Maybe he was saving Chuck for another day. Maybe he was doing this, giving you false hope that he's still in there somewhere!"

Dean looked to Lucifer, searching for support, but he was staring down at the floor, his face miserable.

"The thing that killed Gabriel wasn't Sam; it's what's become of who he was," Bobby said. "Sam knows you well enough to know exactly how to screw with your mind. He pretended to be a ghost because he knew it would hurt you. He said he was hurting to get to you. Think of everything he's done. None of that was _our_ Sam, but it was still Sam. There is no clue to good in this, Dean. It's just more proof that he's gone."

"He has to be stopped," Castiel said.

"We can't kill him," Dean said.

"We cannot," Lucifer agreed, and then he focused on Castiel. "You _will_ not."

"But we have to do something," Castiel said emphatically.

"That's what Chuck is doing," Lucifer said calmly. "He is finding a way to stop him and save him at the same time."

"And if there is no way?" Castiel asked. "What do we do? It's not just about us or Sam now. You said yourself that he is gunning for the world as a whole now. We can't let him succeed just because we care for him."

"I won't," Lucifer said. "I will stop him because I am still fighting for the man he was. The real Sam wouldn't want to hurt anyone."

Castiel shook his head. "And if you fail? If Sam kills you, too?" He hesitated then pushed on. "We had an idea, a plan. I think we need to talk about it again now we have you."

"What is the plan?" Lucifer asked, a glint in his eyes that Dean thought Castiel had missed completely.

"The Cage," Castiel said. "We have the rings still. We can open a channel to the Cage and send Sam into it."

"No," Lucifer said.

"Lucifer, you have to see…" Castiel said pleadingly.

"No!" he snapped. "The Cage is misery and loneliness. I was there for millennia and you know what happened to me. This is not a solution for Sam. He will not suffer an eternity there."

"But he can create his own surroundings," Castiel said.

"It's not the same," Lucifer growled. "Empty shells of people. Think what you are asking, Castiel. If Sam was to go there, even if Dean was to live another fifty years, Sam would spend six-thousand years there before Dean dies. And it wouldn't end there. Until the end of the universe, Heaven and Hell, Sam would be there." He breathed hard. "You think you saw true Hell when you rescued Dean, Castiel, but you didn't. You saw pain. _Dean_ even doesn't know what it would be like for Sam to be locked there for even the time _he_ spent in Hell. I would not wish that fate on anyone, least of all Sam. I will not allow that to happen to the man I love! Banish that idea from your mind, Castiel. You will never mention it again. Do you understand?"

Castiel quailed under his anger and nodded.

"Okay, that's off the table," Bobby said, and Dean was impressed at his calm tone in the face of the raging archangel. "What do we do then?"

"We wait for Chuck," Lucifer said. "We have to hope that he finds something soon and that Sam doesn't do anything else while we're waiting."

"And if he does?" Castiel asked.

"We deal with it," Lucifer said. "There is little we cannot do between us."

Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes downcast. "We hope."

"Yes, Castiel. We hope because to give up that is to fail. And I will not fail him again."

* * *

Sam set down the razor and sighed.

It wasn't the same. Torturing a soul after fighting an archangel was dull. There was no satisfaction to be had in the cries and screams when there was no burgeoning light beneath the skin, no possible resistance. He considered freeing the souls from the rack and chasing them around the levels of Hell as that insane Benders family had wanted to do with him, but he didn't think even that would satisfy him.

"I'm bored, Bob," he said tiredly to the demon at his side.

"Sir?"

"Torturing them now is like switching from Singer's rotgut whiskey to Crowley's fine single malt scotch and then back again. Gabriel was exquisite liquor. This is throat-burning, liver-destroying swill. I need single malt again."

She considered. "You need an archangel."

"I do. Unfortunately, there is only one left. I wouldn't mind killing him, but once I have, the whiskey is gone forever. I don't want to lose that already. The anticipation is almost as good as the drink. I will save him for a special occasion, a birthday, or perhaps my last kill before the world becomes truly mine. He should be savored and his death celebrated. I wish I hadn't rushed Gabriel now. I didn't take nearly long enough after he was disarmed."

He had chosen not to tell the demons that the disarmed archangel was actually a trick. The real kill had been a lucky strike at the right moment. Had he not heard Gabriel behind him, it could have ended very differently. No one else knew that though, and there was no need to tell anyone that part of it. It wasn't like Gabriel could spill the secret since he was dead and now wherever it was angels went after they died. The fact Sam had killed an archangel was doing even more for his respect among the foot soldiers after all.

"I need a challenge, Bob."

"What about a lesser, angel, Sir?"

Sam considered. "That might work, I guess. It'll be an improvement on a soul at least. Yes, I think that'll have to be it. They will at least be slightly more challenging."

"What can I do to help you, Sir?"

"I need some leather tools, a couple thick belts, and an angel."

"I will find those things at once, Sir."

Sam cupped her cheek. "I know you will. You're a good assistant, Bob. Truly. No one better."

* * *

Bob delivered fast. Sam took some time in Hell to tool the leather into what he needed, crafting it for an angel instead of a demon, and then set out topside. He'd had some lesser demons conducting a search while he worked, and he learned there were a group of angels that liked to congregate at Pima Point, a secluded spot on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. They were located ten miles from the nearest road, and Sam thought that would make a good point for him to target.

The idea of these angels spending time at the Grand Canyon amused him. He'd never seen it before, and he was almost looking forward to the experience of the view as much as he was the murders themselves. He liked to remind himself that it would all, the Grand Canyon included, be his soon. He might even take one of the hotels as his own base of operations. He would not have a 'court' like Crowley, he wasn't that insecure and in need of false adulation, but he would at least make sure he had a good seat to oversee his demons from. He would need a base on each continent, he realized. The Taj Mahal would be a good base for him for his Asian operations, and Buckingham Palace had a certain charm, too.

For a moment, he hesitated and probed his feelings. Was that going too far? Was he becoming Crowley-like in his decisions and plans? No. It was just basic common sense for a king to have somewhere to oversee his kingdom, and as the earth would be his kingdom, he would need more than one place to oversee from. It was completely appropriate and not remotely grandiose. He was fine, still being true to himself. His demon-self anyway. His human-self had been pathetic. A memory best forgotten. Which would be so much easier if there weren't annoying reminders everywhere. Such as his inability to find Chuck. He needed the alcoholic asshole dead for his own satisfaction, but he couldn't find him. Demons were looking, searching hard, but they were useless. Wherever Gabriel had sent him to, it was somewhere Sam couldn't find. He considered the fact he could even have trapped him inside one of his time loops like he had Sam and Dean once. That way Sam would have little chance of tracking him down. He could be in the same place, for one ever-repeating day, alone, for all eternity. He really needed to die. It was like a thorn in Sam's side. Each time he thought of it, he surged with annoyance. Not having killed him felt like a failure, and Sam hated failure.

Dean, Lucifer and the other two dumbasses were annoyances too. Dean, Castiel and Bobby had bested him by bringing the angels back, and that rankled. Lucifer was an annoyance just by merely existing at all. If he wasn't saving the killing for something special, he would deal with him now.

He needed to vent his frustration on some angels.

He took himself to within viewing distance of the spot the angels had chosen and peered across at them. There were six, dressed in tailored suits with their wings spread around them. Sam smiled to himself. Six would be interesting. He had only restraints enough for two, but he would make the others suffer too.

Sam muttered the Enochian he needed to bind their wings, uncertain if it would work at the distance. He was pleased when their wings closed in at their backs and they strained and attempted to stretch them. He walked toward them slowly, letting them see him come and know what it would mean for them.

"It's Sam Winchester!" one cried, pointing, and Sam laughed.

"The name is actually _Sir_ ," he said.

One of them was braver than the others. Hilariously so in fact. When Sam reached them, he bristled and said, "We will not call you _Sir._ You are an abomination, not a leader.

"I know thousands of demons that would disagree," Sam said conversationally.

"More abominations," he spat.

Sam drew the Blade and ran a thumb along its edge. "I think you're going to be last." He circled the angel who was obviously uncomfortable but refusing to look at him at all. Sam used his arrogance to pull the restraints from his jacket and throw them around him. He drew them tight and knotted them in place. The angel bucked and struggled, but he was trapped, only able to use his legs. Sam almost hoped he would try to run so he could drag him back.

" _Dlvgar Etharzi,"_ he said conversationally, silencing their minds.

He knew it had worked at once, as they looked at each other, confused and worried.

"What did you do?" the bound angel asked.

"What do you think I did?" Sam asked.

"I can't hear," he said.

"Then that's your answer, isn't it? You're cut off from the group call." He clapped his hand against the Blade. "Okay. Since we're all here for the duration, you might as well try to get along. Unless one of you put in a 911 call before I turned off the radio, we have a lot of time to spend together. You can run if you like. I'll catch you, of course, but it might be funny anyway.

They exchanged a glance and, almost at the same second, straightened their backs. If Sam didn't know better, he would think they were still communicating on their heavenly radio band. It seemed being stupid and proud was a trait among the angels.

"Awesome," he said. "Let's get to work then."

He walked around the tallest female and appraised her. She was interesting, with her look of loathing and chin held high. It pissed him off a little, too, though. As he walked behind her, he cut his blade through the back of her legs, severing her hamstrings. She screamed and fell to the ground, blue-white light spilling from wounds.

The bound angel roared with rage, as the others rushed towards her. Sam held up the Blade to block them and they backed away.

"Who's next?"

The angels glared balefully at him, and then, inexplicably, one raised her hand. As soon as they saw what she was doing, the other three able-bodied angels did the same.

"Are we doing high-fives?" Sam asked mockingly.

"No," one said as bright light began to spill from her hand and flood the air.

It spread from the other angels too, and Sam felt heat on his face, like standing too close to a burner. It seemed to build, and he grew uncomfortable, but then it stopped. They lowered their hands, looking almost afraid. Sam remembered this from Lucifer's lessons. It was called a grace channeling, and if he was a regular demon, he would have been toasted. It seemed being a Knight _and_ King had benefits.

"That was supposed to do more than give me a suntan, right?" he asked. He pointed his blade at the angel that started it, and said. "That was rude. You'll go last instead of him." He jabbed the bound angel with the handle of the Blade."

Inexplicably, she smiled and shook her head. "No. I won't."

She raised her face to the night sky and her mouth opened as blue-white light poured out of her and into the air. The body she had occupied dropped to the ground and the grace flew away into the stars.

"Damn," Sam said. "That's annoying. Hands up if you think she's heading to Sioux Falls?"

Instead of replying, the angels left tilted their heads and escaped into the air, even the one he'd hamstringed left her broken body to die to she could escape. The only one that remained was the bound angel.

He was pissed that he only had one victim left, but he would make this one special.

He brought the blade to the angel's chest and cut away the shirt. "Let's begin."

* * *

 **So… Some more torture for Sammy. I'd feel a little bad about it if angels weren't generally giant dicks.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	35. Chapter 34

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for all your work on this for me. Thank you also Gredelina1 for your help. Thank you all for reading xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty-Four**_

Lucifer was on the back porch. He had come out for some peace and time to think but Castiel had followed him out, and he didn't want to send him away. Castiel was still grieving Gabriel, even though it had now been two weeks since his 'death', and he wanted his remaining older brother's company. Lucifer understood it. If he hadn't known the truth, he would have been grieving, too.

He stared up at the starry sky and thought of Sam. They had loved the stars in Membata. Their number seemed endless and their spread infinite. Perfect works of God in the sky. He wondered what Sam was doing and then pushed the thought away. It was probably better if he didn't know.

There was a breath of wings on the air and then an angel he recognized settled in front of them. Bethiah took a moment to look around her, as if searching for someone following, and then she burst into speech.

"Lucifer, Sam has Marius trapped. I believe he is going to kill him!"

"Where?" Lucifer asked.

"The rest of us escaped," she babbled. "But Marius was bound. He did something to our wings and minds. We couldn't fly or call for help. We had to leave our vessels—I managed to find a new one—and…"

"Where?" Lucifer barked, grabbing her arms and holding them tight.

She winced. "Pima Point, the south side of the Grand Canyon. Please hurry."

Lucifer released her. He had heard that some angels had taken to congregating around natural wonders such as the Grand Canyon in their time reacclimating to earth again. How Sam had found out, he didn't know, but he would have to tell the others to protect themselves. Until Sam was saved, it might be better that they all remain in Heaven, out of his reach.

He took flight and arrived in an instant at the scene of horror. There was a dead human body on the ground that had bled out from a deep slash across the back of the legs. Marius was lying on the ground, too, but he was alive—perhaps unfortunately, as he was suffering terribly. His eyes were gone, and his body was covered in slashes that were deep enough to hurt terribly, but not deep enough to kill. He was crying out as Sam carefully carved into his chest.

At Lucifer's arrival, Sam looked up. "Satan," he said happily. "I'll be right with you."

Lucifer reached for him, to catch the Blade and stop him making the killing blow, but Sam was too fast. He plunged it into Marius' chest, slicing his heart in two. Light burgeoned from his mouth and eye sockets, and then he stilled, ashy wings spread out beneath him.

Sam wiped the blade on the angel's pants leg and then turned to Lucifer. "Hey."

"Why, Sam?" Lucifer asked sadly, looking at the body of his fallen brother.

"Why not?" Sam countered. "I have to entertain myself, and since I took out your brother, the souls have been disappointing. I thought angels would be more satisfying to work with." He toed the corpse. "They are. I would have had more, but they disappeared on me. If you see them again, tell them I'll be in touch."

Lucifer knew it was no good trying to talk to Sam as a man, he was too far gone from that now, but he had to try to reach him on some level. "Do you really find angels more challenging?"

"I didn't say challenging; I said satisfying. I suppose they are more challenging than souls, though. They can at least try to fight back. I think maybe I could grow to like, even love, them. I'm not a monster though. I let the vessels go. Well most of them." He pointed at the female corpse with its slashed legs. "This one let her vessel die when she escaped. Not very angelic, you know."

Lucifer looked around him and saw humans stumbling a mile or so away. He would have to get them back to civilization. He was pleased Sam had spared them, though he knew it meant nothing in the grand scheme of Sam. Not killing humans was just another way Sam held himself apart from lesser demons.

"Better go," Sam said. "Lots to do. Angels to kill."

"Sam…" Lucifer started, but Sam was already gone.

He sighed and bent to remove the restraints from around Marius' body. He would have closed his eyes, too, but they were on the dirty ground beside him. He must have suffered immeasurably in his time with Sam. He needed to be returned to Heaven to be laid to rest, but Lucifer couldn't leave earth. He called on angel radio for someone to come, and Bethiah appeared. She looked down at her brother's body with a look of misery.

"He needs to be taken home," Lucifer said. "See that he is laid to rest."

She nodded. "Yes, Lucifer."

"And there are still living humans here, the vessels, your vessel. You must see them to safety."

"I will. I am sorry, Lucifer. Perhaps if I had stayed…"

"You would have died, too. The fault is Sam's and therefore mine. I am the one that failed you."

He could not bear to hear argument or agreement, so he left her with Marius' body and her assigned task and went back to Bobby's house.

Dean and Bobby were still at the table, the debris of the meal they had been eating when Bethiah arrived still in front of them. Castiel was standing by the counter.

Lucifer dropped the bloodied restraints onto table and said, "Marius is dead, Castiel."

"I heard," he said.

"And it was Sam?" Dean asked, clearly hoping, foolishly, that it wasn't.

"It was Sam," Lucifer confirmed, looking away so he would not see his sadness.

"What did he do?" Bobby asked.

"Something horrific," Lucifer answered. "Truly horrific. Thankfully, upon my arrival, he killed him."

Bobby frowned. "Thankfully?"

"Death was better than what Sam was doing to him. I think we need to recall all angels to Heaven," Lucifer said. "It's not safe for them on earth right now. They are serving no purpose here. The demons will do what they wish regardless now. We are no deterrent with Sam in charge."

"I am not leaving," Castiel said determinedly.

"No," Lucifer said with a rueful smile. "I didn't think you would. But the others must be told."

"I will take care of it," Castiel said.

Lucifer nodded as Castiel walked outside, and then he heard Castiel's voice booming through his mind, filled with power and certainty. ' _We must leave. We must go home. Earth is not safe for us now. It is Lucifer's order.'_

There was a clamor of voices and questions and Lucifer forced them away from himself as the noise was crowding him.

Bobby and Dean watched him silently as he tried to think what to do next. The angels would be safe when they were in Heaven, and the earth protected a little longer when Sam was unable to kill them and create his paradise, but they needed Chuck. He held the thought in his mind _—'Chuck'—_ knowing Gabriel would be listening silently and understanding that they needed something, anything.

The quiet in the room was cut through by the ringing of a phone. Dean took it from his pocket and sucked in a breath. "It's Chuck!"

' _Thank you,'_ Lucifer thought fervently.

Dean answered the phone, "Chuck! Hold on. I'm putting you on speaker. Lucifer and Bobby are here, too." He pressed a button and Chuck's voice came over the line.

"Where's Cas?"

"He's here, too," Dean said. "He's just outside, putting something out on angel radio."

"That's what it was," Chuck said. "I knew something felt wrong. Anyway, I might have something for you. I haven't worked out all the kinks, because I was doing that when the feeling came, but I may have found something."

Lucifer stepped closer to the phone. "What is it?"

There was silence for a moment as Chuck hesitated, but then he said. "It's called a trial. I need to read it through a few more times, and I'm really not sure, but I think it will take care of Sam."

"How?" Dean asked excitedly.

"It will close the Gates of Hell."

"Close them?" Lucifer asked quietly.

"It banishes all demons from the face of the earth and returns them to Hell forever. I think they'll literally be sucked back in and the gates will close for good."

"How do we do it?" Bobby asked.

"It looks like there's three trials. The first is to kill a hellhound and bathe in its blood. I haven't worked out the others yet, but it's a start, right?"

Castiel came back into the room and gave Lucifer a nod to indicate it was done. He had obviously heard the conversation outside, as he leaned close to the phone and said. "Who does the trials, Chuck?"

"Little loud there, Cas," Chuck said as Dean pulled Castiel back from the phone.

"I apologize. Who does them though?"

"A human," Lucifer said. "The tablet was written to enable humans to protect themselves from the threat of my demons. It must be a human."

"That's my thinking, too," Chuck said. "It says some pretty heavy stuff about the person doing the trials, but you guys are badass, so I'm thinking you can work it. For each trial there is some Enochian you have to say."

"And this will actually rid the world of demons?" Bobby said.

"Yeah. They will all be trapped forever. Kinda like the angels would have been had we not popped them out of the box again."

"Sam included," Lucifer said mildly.

"Uh, yeah," Chuck said. "That's kinda the point. Look, I know what you're thinking, but I don't think we're going to find anything else that's going to work on here."

Lucifer doubted he really knew what he was thinking, because if he did, he would be afraid. The fact that Chuck seemed excited at this development was wrong, let alone Bobby and Castiel's reaction. The only one that didn't seem satisfied by the solution was Dean, but he did look thoughtful, as if he was considering it.

"I'm sorry, Lucifer, but I have scoured this tablet, and I know every heading. There's all kinds of stuff, but nothing about saving a demon. I am on the trials at the moment, and I know there's three, but that's all I know. Unless one of these trials is a way to make someone human again, I really think this is our only option."

"Our only option is to lock Sam away forever?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yeah," Chuck said apologetically.

Lucifer closed his eyes and summoned patience as they fell into conversation of the horrifying plan.

"I think it'll work," Bobby said. "It's not so bad as the Cage. He won't be alone at least. He will be with the other demons."

"That's not a life though," Dean said.

"That's the point," Bobby said. "To him, it would be. He would be able to indulge what he wants to do forever. He would be safe, and the world would be safe from him. That Blade needs to be buried, and with him it will be."

"It's not just the Blade though," Dean said. "It's my brother."

"Except it isn't anymore," Castiel said. "He has proved that again and again. Chuck said it's the only solution on the tablet, and if there is nothing there that will do it, it means there _is_ nothing."

"We don't know that," Dean said quietly.

"We kinda do," Chuck said through the crackling speaker.

Dean looked desperately at Lucifer, as if waiting for him to come up with a solution, and when Lucifer didn't react, he nodded slowly.

"Okay. I'll do it."

Lucifer took a breath and then roared as a thunderclap crashed directly overhead. "You will _not_!"

Castiel and Bobby flinched, but Dean just stared at him with sad eyes.

"I don't think we have a choice," he said miserably. "If there's nothing on the tablet to save him, we have to make him safe."

"That is not safe!" Lucifer shouted. "That is trapping him."

"It's better than the Cage," Bobby said in a reasonable tone. "He won't be alone. He might even be happy."

Lucifer drew a sharp breath and a lightning strike hit a junker outside, making sparks fly. "How can you even think this, Bobby? Sam is supposed to be your son. And Dean! He is your brother. How can you give up on him?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Bobby spoke over him. "There is giving up and there's being defeated, and we have been defeated. Sam is gone. We know that because we watched him go. He fought and clawed for you, and it ruined him. He has done terrible things to us and other people, and we've lost him."

Lucifer turned blazing eyes on Dean. "And you? Do you think you're defeated, too?"

Dean looked devastated as he nodded. "Yes. Bobby's right. We have seen him do terrible things. I never wanted to reach this point, I have fought against it all the way, but it's over. If there's nothing on that tablet to _save_ , we have to let him go instead. It's the only way to save everyone else." He blinked and a tear slipped down his cheek.

"I will not let this happen," Lucifer snarled. "I will kill any one of you that tries."

"And what then?" Bobby asked. "If Sam succeeds and conquers the world, how will you make peace within yourself with that?"

Lucifer understood what Bobby was saying, but the older hunter just didn't understand. He didn't have any peace now. He was tortured. That wouldn't change with the end of the world. "I can't believe you're giving up, Dean," he said angrily. "It's Sam."

Though tears slipped down his cheeks, Dean looked furious as he said, "Yes, it's Sam. It's my brother and it is _your_ fault. You gave the Mark to Cain, and he passed it on. You didn't know what Metatron was planning, so you went away, leaving him to die without you! You find a way to fix this if you can, and if you can't, stop him. You cannot let him end the world. That can't be Sam's legacy. Stop him before he succeeds and then kill me."

Castiel gasped. "Dean, no!"

"Yes! I will not live knowing he's gone. I can't. Sam can be happy in the Pit, but I cannot be happy without him, so kill me and make sure no son of a bitch brings me back this time."

"No," Lucifer snapped. "There has to be another way! He picked up the phone and growled into it, "Chuck find me something. Anything."

"I can't," Chuck said. "I've looked…"

Lucifer closed his eyes and let the words rush over him as he sent a plea to the one being left he thought could help. _'Father, please help me. You know what's happened, I am sure, so help me save him. If You truly love me still, help me save Sam. I am begging You.'_

He wasn't sure what he expected to come in return, but there was nothing for a long moment before Chuck spoke excitedly. "Wait! I have something!"

"What?" Dean's face was slack with shock.

"Yeah. It's one of the trials. The third one. It says, hang on, it says the last trial is to cleanse the black soul's taint of Hell."

"What does that mean?" Bobby asked.

"I think it literally means to cure a demon," Chuck said. "Make them human again."

"How do you know this?" Castiel asked. "It has taken you weeks to translate the little you have so far. How can you see this?"

Lucifer felt a twinge of anger and suspicion. "Did you know all along? Have you been trying to make us trap Sam in some form of revenge?"

"No!" Chuck gasped. "I swear. I see it now because it's in English. The tablet language is like reading through the wrong glasses while it's being shaken. This is English words and letters. It's never been like this before."

Lucifer believed him, and he thought he knew how it had happened.

"It could be a trap," Castiel said. "Sam manipulating it somehow."

"Not possible," Lucifer said.

"Then why did it suddenly decrypt itself?" Bobby asked. "Seems a little too easy to me."

Lucifer looked at Castiel. "It was Father.

"Why would He intervene now?" Castiel asked.

"Because I finally asked," Lucifer said. "This time He answered me." He laughed shakily. "We have a way to save Sam. I'm getting him back!"

Dean choked a sob and Lucifer saw the tears were streaming down his now smiling face. "We can do it?"

"I am certain," Lucifer said. "My Father wouldn't give me false hope, not now." He drew a breath. "He would not let me down."

He closed his eyes and just let the relief flood through him. He was getting Sam back.

* * *

 **So… Finally some good news. About damn time, right? Some good stuff coming up.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	36. Chapter 35

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this mess for me and Gredelina1 for all your help.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty-Five**_

Dean was running on adrenaline. His body and mind were wide awake, and his senses were heightened; his vision was clearer and sounds were louder. Only the slight tremble in his hands troubled him. He couldn't tell if it was excitement or his stressed body causing it.

Bobby had sat him down with a coffee to distract him while Lucifer was gone. He had left to speak to his Father about what they were going to do. Chuck was working on the tablet still, but there didn't seem to be clear instructions about how to actually do the curing. God had apparently skimmed on the details. Dean got that the trials were actually supposed to be a _trial,_ but a little more information would have been helpful. These tablets were written millennia ago, before mass information sharing, so how were people supposed to know what to do then, when all the information and technology available to them now had failed?

Bobby and Castiel were quiet. Dean wondered if they were thinking that, like him, they were wrong to have given up so soon. Had it not been for Lucifer's fierce determination to actually save rather than trap Sam, he would have been lost forever. Dean felt sick when he thought of it. He could have lost Sam completely. He was getting him back now though, and it was all going to be okay—eventually. He was aware that Sam was going to need time to recover from what he had done and been through, and they would give him that time. With them all around him, he would come back to himself, especially now Lucifer was there, too. It was losing him that had broken him; it was having him back that was going to save him.

Lucifer returned with a whip of wings, his eyes more alive than they had been since the moment he arrived outside Bobby's the day he came back.

"You got something?" Dean asked.

"Yes. He says it is a form of exorcism. There is a specific action to be performed over eight hours, and a Latin invocation to be spoken at the last dose with a bloodied palm over the mouth, but it will heal him to a man again. He will be Sam."

"What do you mean dose?" Bobby asked.

"He must be injected with purified human blood at hourly intervals." He looked from Dean to Bobby. "It will have to be one of you that does it."

"I'm doing it," Dean said quickly.

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked. "I don't mind doing it. Sam is not going to be pleasant to be around for even long enough to give him the shot. He will find a way to torture you, Dean."

"I know. I have to do it though. It's my job. I have been taking care of him my whole life. I have failed more times than you probably know, but I won't this time. If it has to be one of us that does it, it will be me. I will save him from this, and we can all save him from what he's done after."

Lucifer nodded slowly. "He is going to suffer immeasurably when his conscience is returned. He will need us all."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably and Dean nodded at him. "You too, Cas. I know things have been rough, even before he was a demon, but that's not who we're getting back."

"Do we know that?" Bobby asked. "He's still going to have the Mark. We don't know what effect that will have on him. He might be just as… different… as before."

"The Mark will be gone, too, in time," Lucifer said.

"Will you take it back?" Castiel asked.

"Perhaps. I don't want to, because that will be a reminder for Sam of what he did, but it might be necessary until I find another way."

"Can't it be destroyed?" Dean asked.

"Not without releasing The Darkness. And there is no way to destroy her. It took God and every archangel to trap her. We could never kill her. Not only would it probably be impossible, it would destroy the cosmic balance. While She and my Father exist in some form, the universe is able to continue its existence. Without both of them, it would all be gone."

"Okay," Bobby said. "No trying to destroy the Mark. But we do have to get it off of him. If we don't, even if he finds a way to live with it, when he does die, he'll be a demon again and start the whole cycle over."

"I will find a way," Lucifer said confidently. "I won't let him be lost again."

"Do we need to test this 'exorcism' before we try it on Sam?" Dean asked. "What if it doesn't work?"

"It will work," Castiel said confidently. "This is the Word of God. He would not let us down."

Dean thought He had let them down plenty over the years, but he didn't comment on it with Lucifer and Castiel there. It didn't matter now anyway. As long as He delivered this time, it wouldn't matter what He had done before.

"There is no time anyway," Lucifer said. "We must find Sam and stop him before he kills or hurts anyone else."

"How do we find him?" Bobby asked. "He's not exactly been easy to track lately."

"Cain," Lucifer said. "He will know. Cain held the Blade for a long time and was just as attached to it as you said Sam is. He will only be able to rest if he knows where it is."

"He hid it at the bottom of the ocean," Bobby said reasonably.

"But he still knew. As long as he believed he could retrieve it at will, he would be fine. Even without the Mark, he will be able to trace if when he needs to. And now he needs to. Wherever the Blade is, Sam is, too."

"Let's get going then," Dean said. "Sooner we find him, sooner we can get to work."

Lucifer nodded. "I need to speak to Crowley first." He walked into the hall and down the steps, Dean following him.

Lucifer opened the creaking panic room door and Dean peered inside. Crowley rushed to the edge of the trap, looking surprised. "So, you are alive. I wondered after Sam's visit."

"Sam's visit?" Dean asked in surprise.

"Yep, same night you locked me down here, Sam paid me a visit."

"What did he say?" Lucifer asked intensely.

"Nothing. Just looked menacing, made it clear I wasn't to talk, and then waved bye-bye before taking off."

The realization that Sam had been so close and none of them had known was pretty daunting to Dean. Even Lucifer and Gabriel, archangels, hadn't known. He pushed away the fear and reminded himself that it would all be over soon.

"We need to know where Cain is," Lucifer said.

Crowley frowned. "Cain? What do you want him for?"

"We need him to find Sam," Dean said.

"Why?"

"That is not your business," Lucifer said.

"Oh, is that right? Well, what if I decide not to tell you?"

"Then I will make you," Lucifer said, dropping his sword into his hand and leering at Crowley.

Crowley held up his hands. "No need for that. I was only asking. Cain has got a place just outside St. Donatus, Iowa. You'll feel it when you see it, Lucifer. He doesn't shield himself at all. He's actually a pretty scary bloke. Not on level with Sam, since he hasn't got the Blade or same streak of vindictiveness, but he's pretty up there."

"That is not a concern," Lucifer said.

"No? Doesn't he have a pretty big grudge against you?"

Lucifer frowned, and Crowley backed up. "Sorry. I was just saying. Putting you on your guard."

Lucifer clanged the door shut without a word. He turned to Dean and said, "Will you come with me?"

"Yes," Dean said instantly. "Why though? I'm not worried since you're there with the big-ass archangel sword, but he has a grudge."

"Because you might be able to do this without violence. I am hoping to appeal to his better nature, and that is a very small thing, so I need all the help I can get. If you approach him as Sam's brother, we might succeed."

"What will you do if you can't?" Dean asked.

"I will find another way," Lucifer said, his grip on his sword tightening.

"Okay, I'll just tell Bobby and Cas where we're going, and we'll head out. I don't want them panicking."

Lucifer nodded and followed him up the stairs. Bobby and Castiel looked hopefully at them as they entered. "Did you get an address?"

"Yeah," Dean said easily. "We're going to make a run by there now and talk to him."

"Talk?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow at Lucifer's still drawn blade.

"It'll be fine," Dean said, waving a hand. "We won't be long."

He nodded to Lucifer before Bobby could protest and felt the swoop in his stomach as he was swept away. They set down in front of a white farmhouse with a windmill moving slowly in the light wind. Dean thought he could hear the hum of the bees Crowley had mentioned.

Without pause, Lucifer strode to the house and entered through the door that swung open at his approach. Dean hurried after him, hearing the warble of some god-awful music coming from inside.

Lucifer walked unerringly through an open door at the end of the hall and Dean heard a mild voice say, "Hello, Lucifer."

Dean went in after him and saw a man seated by the fireplace in which logs were burning. The man looked up at Dean and his eyes widened slightly.

"Cain," Lucifer said solemnly. "This is Dean Winchester."

Cain nodded. "I see. Have a seat, Dean."

Thinking he would regret it if he refused, Dean sat opposite Cain and clasped his hands in his lap. Surprisingly, Lucifer took a seat beside him, straight-backed and proud, and fixed his eyes on Cain.

"So, what can I do for you?" Cain asked.

"I think you know," Lucifer said. "I'm here for Sam."

"Ah, yes, Sam. I liked him a lot you know. How is he?"

"Dead," Dean said brutally. "He killed himself."

Cain nodded thoughtfully. "That's a shame. I really did like him. I understand his pain, though. I was driven to take my own life, too." He fixed his eyes on Lucifer. "Do you remember, Lucifer?"

Lucifer nodded. "I remember. I am sorry for it."

Cain laughed harshly. "An apology from Satan himself. I have waited a long time for this. I suppose you think I should apologize to you, too, Lucifer, since Sam is now a demon."

"He's not just a demon," Dean said. "He's the worst demon we've even known."

"Really?" Cain asked with a raised eyebrow. "He's that gifted?"

"He has taken your crown, Cain," Lucifer said.

It was strange, Dean thought, that they so obviously hated each other, but were polite and calm when speaking. Their tension was all beneath the surface, ready to boil over should either of them allow it a chance to.

"Never mind. I didn't polish it enough anyway," Cain said idly. "He has given himself completely to the Mark then?"

"Yes," Lucifer said. "It has taken him over.

"Good," Cain said. "There is no giving it up now."

Lucifer closed his eyes a moment, and when they opened, his gaze was hard. "There is always a way."

"No, there isn't," Cain said. "Sam is gone. I am glad. That was my intent when I gave him the Mark and told that idiot Crowley where to find the Blade. I saw how much he loved you, Lucifer, and I knew you loved him. Your grace was draped all over him even without you being there. I knew it was the perfect revenge. You took the person I loved more than anything from me, and now I have done the same. You are the reason Abel is dead, and I am the reason Sam is ruined. It finally feels right."

"I am sorry for what I did," Lucifer said. "I am not the same person that did that to you anymore. Sam changed me."

"He said the same thing. I can see it myself. It must hurt you even more because of it, knowing that, though Sam saved you, you cannot save him. Now, I assume you're here for a better reason than just to fill me in. Why don't you try asking, Lucifer?"

"There is a way to save Sam," he replied. "We have a way, but we need to find him."

"Can you not sense him yourself?"

"He has shielded himself from us," Lucifer said.

"From an archangel? That is clever."

"He is clever," Dean agreed. "He is also a monster now."

Cain looked interested. "More of a monster than you, Lucifer?"

"Yes," Lucifer said. "Just not as powerful."

Cain smiled. "I don't know what you expect me to do. I can find him, yes, but why would I tell you?"

"Please," Dean begged. "I know Lucifer hurt you, and I know you owe us nothing, but he's my brother. I need him. You understand that at least, don't you? You loved Abel."

"Enough to kill him, yes," Cain said.

"Then help me save my brother! I know you want to punish Lucifer, but he's suffered enough, believe me."

"There is no enough for him," Cain said stonily.

" _I've_ been punished enough," Dean said. "My family has. We're all suffering, Sam included deep down, and you're the only one that can help us. Help me save him."

"Please, Cain," Lucifer said.

Cain ignored him completely. "I do know how you feel, Dean, but I do not see what _I_ stand to gain."

"What about the world?" Lucifer asked. "You care nothing for Dean really, I know, even less for me, but you do enjoy the world. Sam is threatening to take that and destroy it."

Cain looked interested for the first time. "He is powerful enough to do that?"

"Yes," Lucifer said. "He has deposed Crowley as king. He has the power of the Mark as well as the power of the throne behind him. He is incredibly dangerous."

The clock on the mantle above the fireplace ticked on, and they sat in silence. Lucifer didn't speak, and Dean could see Cain was thinking hard, so he stayed quiet, too.

Eventually, Cain moved. He stood and threw another log onto the already roaring fire. With his back to them, he said. "Sam spends a lot of time in a place called Fall River in Massachusetts. He stopped going there a while ago, but recently he has returned. I am not sure what it is that attracts him, but he is there now."

"It's Crowley's old court," Lucifer said.

Cain turned, eyebrow raised. "Crowley kept a court? What an arrogant creature he is. Or is it was? Have you killed him yet, Lucifer?"

"Not yet," Lucifer said. "I will though."

"Good." Cain nodded. "He was annoying."

Dean stood, eager to be gone now. Lucifer rose to his feet and said, "Thank you, Cain."

"I am not doing this for you," Cain said. "You know as well as I do that if the Mark has taken Sam, there is nothing that can be done. I am doing this to give Sam his chance to do what I couldn't."

"What?" Dean asked.

Cain stared into his eyes. "Kill the Devil."

* * *

 **So… That's not an at all ominous line from Cain to end with. Nope. Not at all.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	37. Chapter 36

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing for me and Gredelina1 for all your help. Thank you all for reading and supporting the story xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty-Six**_

Lucifer watched as Bobby perfected the curve of one last sigil with his tool and held the belt up to the light. "I think it's good," he said.

Lucifer took it. The sigils were at the right depth; they weren't deep enough to break through the leather, nullifying the bonds, but they were deep enough to hold power. They would work perfectly.

"Thank you, Bobby."

Castiel held up the chains he was working on, too, and examined them. "I am close to finishing."

"We don't need yours until we're here with him. Take your time," Lucifer said. "Make each link as intricate as you can, as that will give them the most strength."

"A chain is only as strong as its weakest link," Castiel said knowledgably. The way he glanced at Bobby made Lucifer think that it was his friend that was being quoted.

Lucifer nodded. "Exactly. Take your time. We will not be back fast."

"No," Dean agreed. "I guess you won't."

"But we will be back," Lucifer assured him. "Whatever happens, this will be over soon once we're here."

Dean nodded, but Lucifer thought that, like him, he was thinking of what would come after for them all. Sam was going to be so damaged by what he had done. It was going to take a very long time to save him from that. And there was the Mark to deal with. It was not going to be an easy path for them to travel.

"Be careful, Lucifer," Castiel said.

"I will," Lucifer said. "I am not underestimating him. I know exactly what I am going to face when I get there."

"But you can do it, right?" Dean asked. "You can get him here?"

Lucifer nodded. The time seemed right now to tell them what was really happening. He wasn't going into this fight alone. "There is something I have been keeping from you," he said.

Dean looked tense. "What?"

"It isn't Sam," he assured him. "It's about _my_ brother."

Dean and Bobby turned to Castiel who looked confused. Their eyes moved to the door though, as it opened and Gabriel entered.

"Hey, guys!" he said cheerfully.

"Gabriel?" Bobby asked, eyes wide with shock.

"The one and only. Did you miss me?"

There was a rattle and scraping as Castiel dropped the chains he was working on and got to his feet. He crossed the room in four strides and threw his arms around Gabriel.

"Whoa. Hey," Gabriel said, glancing at Lucifer with confusion. "What's with the hugs?"

"He believed you were dead," Lucifer reminded him.

"Gabriel," Castiel said, relief heavy in his tone.

Gabriel smiled. "I didn't know you cared, Cas." Castiel held him tighter and Gabriel looked pleased. "Easy, little fella. You're fine."

Dean looked almost amused at Gabriel's choice of words. As he had only ever seen Gabriel in a vessel, it made sense to find the words strange, but to Lucifer and Castiel, who knew Gabriel towered over Castiel when they were in in their true forms, it was right.

"Okay, Cas, I'm going to need my arms back at some point," Gabriel said.

Castiel stepped back, still looking shocked but happy, and Gabriel laughed.

"I thought Sam was supposed to have killed you," Bobby said.

"He did," Gabriel said brightly. "Twice. Unfortunately for him, he forgot my other life as a Trickster. He was fooled when he killed my second doppelganger as I did the full wing show."

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the truth," Lucifer said. "We couldn't risk Sam finding out."

Castiel nodded. "I understand."

"So can he beat an archangel now?" Bobby asked soberly.

Lucifer looked to Gabriel for an answer. "I don't know. I didn't throw the fight if that's what you mean. He was strong, but I don't have the same control as a doppelganger as I do in person. It was still a helluva fight. Let's just say, I wouldn't like to find out by going one-on-one with him."

"Are you safe, Lucifer?" Castiel asked.

Lucifer nodded. "I am more powerful than Gabriel because of who I was. Michael was always strongest, though he had no finesse. As the second-born son, I have more power than Gabriel, and I accumulated even more power as the Devil. Though I have changed, my power has not. Hell still ultimately belongs to me. I will win this fight."

"Unless Sam has worked out how to utilize the souls," Gabriel said. "Then it might be a little more even."

"I don't believe he has," Lucifer said. "That was never something I taught him, and I am sure Crowley didn't. This will not be easy, but I _will_ win."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Good."

"You ready to go?" Gabriel asked.

Lucifer nodded. "Yes. I think it is time." He looked from Bobby to Dean. "You will need to rest while we're gone."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, that's going to happen."

"It must," Lucifer said. "We do not know how long it will take to get Sam back here, and when he is, we need to start the process straight away. It will take eight hours, and you need to be at your strongest to deal with him."

Dean frowned. "I'm not fighting him."

"No," Lucifer agreed. "What you're going to do will be worse. You will be forced to be around him, and as Bobby said, he knows how to hurt you. Don't let weariness make it harder."

"I can help you sleep," Castiel offered.

"Think you might have to," Dean said. "You'll tell us as soon as he's here, though, right?"

"I will," Lucifer said.

Dean nodded as Gabriel picked up the leather restraints Bobby had carved to bind Sam.

"Nice workmanship," Gabriel said appreciatively. "You ready, Lucifer?"

Was he? He didn't feel it. He knew he had to do this, to get it done, to save Sam, but he wasn't eager to begin the fight itself. He was going to have to do more than face Sam this time; he would have to battle him, hurt him, lock him down and drag him back here.

"Go," Dean said, staring into his eyes as if he was reading his mind. "Get Sam back."

Lucifer nodded. With those words, he was ready.

* * *

Sam was humming quietly to himself. He was perfectly alone, enjoying the solitude after time spent in the Pit addressing the masses. He had finally gotten it through to them that he didn't care about their problems and petty squabbles, but they still came to him for other reasons, advice and assistance. He almost enjoyed it. It was more of what he thought being king would be. Adulation was also enjoyable sometimes, in moderation at least. After a while it grew annoying.

That was why he had come back to the old court. It was a place he could be alone and just think and plan, and there was much to plan. He needed a way to deal with angels that didn't involve taking them out one by one. He had no idea how many there were, and the fact that some of the ones he'd had before had escaped him by leaving their vessels bothered him. It felt almost like a defeat. There had to be a better way.

When he heard the doors down the hall opening, he thought perhaps Bob had come searching for him. She knew he spent time here sometimes. It wasn't until he felt the power radiating like heat from the visitor that he realized who it must be. Why he had chosen to come back here, Sam didn't know, but he was amused that he had.

He sat back a little deeper in his throne and rested his ankle on his knee, the picture of ease as Lucifer pushed open the double doors and entered. His face was solemn as he walked in and stopped in the middle of the room.

"Satan!" Sam said cheerfully. "To what do I owe the visit?"

"I am here to help you," Lucifer said.

Sam sat up. "You are? Great. I do need help. See, I'm looking for a way to take out multiple angels at a time with minimum effort. Thoughts?"

"I am not here to help you murder my family," Lucifer said.

Sam sighed. "Kinda guessed you wouldn't be. But that's the only help I need. I don't need to talk; I have Bob for that. I don't need leadership tips from the former King of all Hell, as I'm doing just fine alone with that, and I don't need another heart-to-heart with my ex-boyfriend. In fact, I can't think of anything I might want from you at all anymore. If might be better if you leave now. You're only going to get upset hanging around here."

"I am not leaving," he replied.

"Then I will," Sam said, getting to his feet.

Lucifer raised a hand and spoke in Latin. _"_ _Ad hunc locum tenere huc_ _."_

Sam felt a weight fall over him as he was bound, able to move but not leave.

"Seriously? You're that desperate for more heartbreak that you would use that?"

"I am not here for heartbreak," Lucifer said.

Sam stood and walked towards the angel. He didn't draw his blade, as he knew there would be no fight. Lucifer wouldn't attack him, and he wouldn't attack yet either. He had a plan in place for their battle, and it was not going to happen here, now. He was saving him for a party to celebrate his success.

"I am going to help you, Sam," Lucifer said.

"Even if I needed help, what makes you think I would ever let you be the one to give it?" Sam asked. "In case you didn't get the memo, we're over Lucifer. It would never have worked. You're an angel; I am a Knight of Hell. We can't just fake it and get along. Really—I am saying this for your benefit as much as mine—you need to let go. You're only going to hurt if you don't. And I am only going to get pissed. You don't want to make me pissed."

"I am not afraid of you, Sam."

Sam didn't suppose he was. Lucifer was stuffed full of self-importance and love still. He didn't see that it was too late. Sam didn't, couldn't, love anymore. Even if he could, he wouldn't choose Lucifer. He was the epitome of his weakness as a human, and he wanted to forget that part of his life. Lucifer probably thought that, deep down, Sam would never hurt him. He was wrong. Sam would hurt him, but not until he was ready

"You should be," Sam said.

Lucifer shook his head. "I do not fear who I love."

"What about Michael, or _God?"_ He sneered the name. "You loved them."

"I didn't fear either of them."

"You sure bitched about God, and Michael drove you back into the Cage, so I'm pretty sure you're lying to me."

"I went to the Cage not because I feared what Michael would do to me, but what he would do to the world and therefore you. I hated what God did to me, and that was my complaint, but it wasn't fear. I love you, so I don't fear you either."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Love. What do I have to do to break up with you? Really? I need to know. I mean, I told you we needed a break—that's a polite, human way to do it. I killed your brother, which I guess wasn't that polite or human, but it was a pretty clear message that it's over."

"I am going to help you, Sam," he repeated serenely.

"Why?" Sam asked. "I don't need help, and I sure as hell don't want it. I don't love you, and I don't need you. If you really want to help me, you'll leave me alone."

"I love you, Sam."

Sam laughed harshly, his head thrown back, and so missed the moment Lucifer changed. He didn't see him draw his blade or his face darken, but one moment he was in the middle of the room, the next he was striding toward Sam with it held in front of him. Sam barely had time to step aside and draw the First Blade before Lucifer was upon him.

The weapons clanged as Lucifer struck for Sam and he parried. He was momentarily caught off-guard by the force behind it, and it took him time to understand what was happening.

"You're going to kill me," he said.

He supposed it even made sense in Lucifer's head, even counted as 'help'. The Sam he had loved was gone, so he was going to remove what he had become from the earth. He obviously didn't understand that who he had become was the purest version of himself. Not constrained by love or grief or guilt, Sam was free. He could do what he wanted with his life, and Lucifer wasn't going to take that away from him. Sam would kill him now after all, and the last possible threat—since God had walked off the chequerboard—would be gone.

"I am going to help you," Lucifer said.

He thrust out the Blade, but Lucifer stepped back out of range. Sam had thought he would, and was not disappointed. The attempt was just to test Lucifer's reflexes and the reach of the blade.

A dark look came into Lucifer's eyes, and Sam realized he wasn't fighting his ex-lover now, or even the archangel he truly was. He was fighting the Devil. He felt exhilarated. This would be the greatest challenge he would ever face. And when it was done, when he had won, there would be no threat in the world left for him.

He stepped around Lucifer and struck out again. Lucifer caught his arm and shoved him away. Sam flew into the wall and the old brick crumbled as a deep crack appeared.

Sam laughed. "That didn't even hurt a little." He rushed forward and swept his blade through the air. Lucifer blocked it and forced Sam back again at the wall. Part of the ceiling fell at the impact as the wall shook.

"I am going to help you," Lucifer said again.

"You keep saying that, but so far all you've done is push me around a little and break a wall."

As it to spite him, Lucifer snapped himself to stand in front of him and jabbed Sam in the upper arm with the tip of his blade. It cut through the suit and shirt and drew a trickle of blood. Sam was angry at the petty wound. It was pathetic, it barely even stung, but it was a show of Lucifer's power, and he wasn't going to let that pass.

He ran forward as Lucifer stepped back, his blade held out. Lucifer parried it away and used Sam's momentum to spin him and throw him at the opposite wall. A chunk of ceiling fell onto Sam's head, and he shook the dust from his hair.

He noticed now that a storm was raging outside. Thunder rumbled, shaking the room, and lightning was bringing trees crashing down as it hit.

Sam rushed forward again, the Blade cleaving down at Lucifer's head. Lucifer blocked it and Sam quickly swung free of the hold. He jabbed again and again, trying to kill now, not injure. Lucifer had incensed him with his show of strength and the fact he had drawn blood first. Little as he wanted to admit it, even to himself, Sam had underestimated his opponent. He wasn't just a challenge; he was a match to Sam's power.

Sam struck out, and finally drew blood. The length of the blade slashed across Lucifer's arm and bright grace bled out. Lucifer pushed him away into the wall again, and with a crash it collapsed, leaving the ceiling and second story held by three walls. Sam surged forward again, as Lucifer clasped a hand to his wound, not seeing his mistake until it was too late; Lucifer was feinting.

He stepped back just before Sam reached him and—just as Sam had Gabriel—he slashed Sam's hand, making him drop the Blade. The wound burned like fire, the power of the archangel blade searing through his skin even after it was moved away. Lucifer picked up the First Blade and held it out at Sam.

"I told you I wasn't afraid," he said.

Sam breathed through his gritted teeth, furious. "Kill me then. It's what you want—to end what I have become."

"You are only partly correct."

He nodded, his eyes fixed on a point over Sam's shoulder, and someone slung a leather belt around Sam's chest. He bucked and fought but the belt was cinched tight and his hands were dragged up and restrained in the small of his back. It was the same hold he'd had Metatron in, and knew at once who was doing it to him.

"Dean," he growled.

"No," Lucifer said.

"Castiel?"

The hands stopped moving on Sam's wrists as he was knotted in place, and someone shifted around to face him.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Gabriel was grinning at him. "Hey, Sam."

"I killed you," Sam said, unable to hide his shock at seeing the archangel.

Gabriel chuckled. "You should try harder next time."

"No, I _killed_ you!"

"Did you check for a pulse?" he asked conversationally.

Sam narrowed his eyes at him. "I stabbed you in the damn heart!"

"Well, I have been called heartless before," Gabriel said.

"I know you were dead," Sam said. "I saw your wings on the floor. You were gone."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "You were _tricked,_ Sam. Again."

Incensed, Sam bucked in his restraints, trying to break them and free himself. There was no give though. All he was doing was making the knots tighter. He stopped and fixed his loathing filled eyes on Lucifer.

"Kill me then! It's what you want. You want rid of me, the reminder of what you had. It's what I want, too. Get me away from you for the last time. Free me."

"I am going to save you, Sam," Lucifer said, the gentle tone to his voice making Sam want to scream.

"You can't. It's impossible. You will never get _your_ Sam back. He is buried and gone."

"He is buried," Lucifer agreed. "But not gone. He will be saved. I am going to cure you, Sam."

Sam made a noise like an animal, the expression of his mingled hated and rage, and stumbled forward. Lucifer caught him and held him by the shoulder, his other hand coming up to cup Sam's cheek. "I am going to save you, Sam, because I love you."

Sam snarled and fought, his trapped hands clawing and aching to reach for Lucifer's eyes.

"It's okay, "Lucifer soothed. "It will be over soon; I am going to help you."

* * *

 **So… That happened. We're on the road to good again. Kinda.**

 **The fight was supposed to be more of a battle, with Sam and Lucifer really going all out, but I realized Sam wasn't a match for Lucifer. Lucifer does possess truly Hell and he** _ **was**_ **Satan. That combined with the fact he is the second born archangel pretty much makes Sam his bitch. Shame. I would have enjoyed writing a** _ **real**_ **fight between the two of them.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	38. Chapter 37

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the fab beta job and Gredelina1 for all your help. Thank you all for reading xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty-Seven**_

Dean knew Lucifer and Gabriel had succeeded in trapping Sam when he was woken in the early hours of the morning by noise downstairs. He sat up and listened as his brother's voice raged and shouted. He heard a low soothing murmur that he was sure was Lucifer and a muffled laugh that he guessed was Gabriel. He understood why Gabriel might have a grudge against Sam, he had 'killed' him after all, but he wished he would stow it and just help Lucifer get Sam locked down without enraging him further.

He got out of bed and stuffed his feet into his boots, then paused and hesitated with his hand on the door. When he went down those stairs, he was going to have to face Sam, and he knew that he was going to suffer because of it.

There was a knock on his door, and he opened it to see a wary looking Bobby in the hall.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Not even a little. Let's go."

Dean walked down the stairs in front of Bobby and into the library. The room was empty, as the others had already moved to the basement; Dean could hear Sam's shouts still. The chains were gone from the table where Castiel had left them, so he guessed they were working to restrain him now. He went straight to the liquor cabinet and then paused with his hand on the neck of a bottle. His blood needed to be purified. Did that literally mean pure? He probably shouldn't drink just in case.

He walked into the kitchen and prepped and set the coffee maker to working. He stared out the window at the still dark yard and tried to brace himself for what was coming—facing Sam again.

"You okay?" Bobby asked.

Dean shook his head.

"Nervous?"

Dean turned back to look at him. "That's one word for it."

"What's another?"

"Scared," Dean admitted. "I don't think we're going to fail. I think Sam will be cured, but what happens between then and now is what I'm worried about."

"You don't have to do it, Dean. I can take your place. I know you feel like it's your job because he's your brother, but he's my son, too, and I have failed him as much if not more lately. You believed in him when I didn't. I've got things to make right, too."

Dean was tempted. It would be easy to sit up here, away from Sam, and let someone else take over. He couldn't do it though. He had to face this as he had been trained by his father to do. John had run toward danger to save others; the least Dean could do was suffer Sam's cruel words for eight hours to save him.

"It's okay. I've got it," he said.

"Okay, but if you need me, I'll be there. I can stay down there every step of the way with you if you need me."

"There's no point us both suffering. I think he's going to be worse than we have seen him so far when he knows what's coming. It's better if I do it alone."

"God knows I don't want to be there, but I will if it will help you," Bobby said. "I think we've got a real tough road coming our way after this is over. When Sam is himself again—or human at least—it's going to be rough for us all. We might as well start on it as a unit."

The coffee maker hissed and burbled, and Dean turned and poured himself a cup. It steamed, and he sipped it, wishing it was whiskey.

"It's got quiet down there," Bobby said. "Think they've gagged him?"

Dean listened. He could hear no sound from the basement now. "I don't know. Lucifer wouldn't want to."

"Maybe he's trying to make it easier on you," he said.

Dean hated himself for wishing he was right. A silent Sam would be easier to deal with than a vocal and hateful one.

Someone came up the stairs and Castiel came into the room. He smiled sadly at Dean. "He is quiet now," he said. "For a time."

"Gagged?" Bobby asked.

"No, I think he has just run out of cruel things to say at the moment and has spent his rage a little."

"Is he okay?" Dean asked.

"He has an injury to his hand and arm, but they will not do any harm while he is a demon, and as soon as he is cured, Lucifer will be able to heal him. There was remarkably little damage for the fight. Lucifer had an injury to his arm, but he has healed already."

Dean knew he shouldn't be surprised Sam had hurt Lucifer, he had done that emotionally many times, but it was _Lucifer_ : the man Sam loved. It was yet another thing for him to feel guilty about when he was himself again.

Gabriel stomped up the steps and into the room. "Wow, no offence, Dean, but your brother is a real dick right now. He's been cutting Lucifer deep with his words."

"Sorry," Dean said stupidly.

Gabriel waved a hand. "He can handle it. But whenever you're ready to start, that'd be great."

Dean set down his cup and said. "I'm ready."

"Not quite," Gabriel said. "You've got to have a chat with Dad first."

Dean was astonished. "I have to see God?"

"See? No. Talk to? Yes. You have to go to confession. I don't mean the priest and the booth and all, but you need to make it vocal. Tell your sins and ask for forgiveness. Make yourself pure. It's never been about the setting or props; it's the intent. Say what you need to say, and I know He'll be listening."

"You want a little privacy?" Bobby asked.

"I'll go outside," Dean said.

He walked out of the house, feeling the chill in the air as he walked down the steps and around the house, out of view of the kitchen or library windows. He took a breath and stared up at the sky, wondering where to start.

He found the words came naturally when he took a breath and started. "Okay, God, here goes. I'm sure you hate me. I do a lot of the time, too. Sam's got to be pretty special for you, since he's Lucifer's whole world, and I've let him down so much. I've blamed you a few times for a few things, but I guess that was just me throwing it away from myself. Gabriel says I have to confess my sins, and I don't even know where to start; there are so many. You know them all already, I'm sure, so I don't think me listing them is going to help."

He stopped a moment and raked a hand over his face before forcing himself on.

"I have done what I can in my life to help people when I could, but I have let people down as well. I did terrible things in Hell, but that doesn't seem so important now. My biggest sin is Sam. I failed him and let him become this thing. I should have protected him from it all. He should never have had a chance to kill himself, because I should have been there with him. That's my sin. My brother. I don't think you can forgive that, but I don't think that part matters so much. Gabriel said it was the intent, and this is mine. I want to save him, and I think if you let me do that, it's all good." He sighed, wondering what to say next. "I don't know how much input you have on this, with the demons being Lucifer's originally, but if you can, help me save him. Make me strong enough to do it."

He lowered his eyes and searched himself for some sign that forgiveness had been granted after all. He could feel nothing apart from a twinge of something in his chest that he thought might be hope. Even if God didn't grant forgiveness, he was purified now, and ready to help Sam.

He walked back into the house and nodded at Gabriel's questioning glance. "It's done."

Gabriel clapped his hands together. "Awesome. Ready to face the beast?"

Dean didn't object to the term, as he thought it was probably pretty accurate at the time. It wasn't until Sam was cured that he would be better.

He walked down the steps after Gabriel and into the panic room. As they couldn't break the trap to get Crowley out, he was bound to a chair on the edge of the trap to the right of Sam, and he watched them as they entered with a wide smile.

"Looks like the cavalry has arrived, Moose," he said. "Here to wash all your cares away."

Sam turned slowly to face him. "I am going to cut your heart out," he said, his tone as mild as if he was commenting on the weather.

He was calmer than Dean expected, seeming almost disinterested in what was happening. He didn't glance at Lucifer—standing in front of him—even once. It was strange to see them together like this. Before, when in the same room, Sam's and Lucifer's eyes had unerringly found each other almost constantly, as it they were drawn by magnets.

Sam was bound to the chair, his arms pinned at his sides. The leather restraints were gone; the sigil protected chains held him in place now. His right sleeve was bloody and there appeared to be dust in his hair. Despite that, he looked dignified and dangerous. It was clear that, had he been freed and armed, they would all be seriously suffering for what they had done to him.

Sam looked up at Dean and smiled cruelly without speaking.

"Is it done?" Lucifer asked Dean. "Have you confessed?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "I did it."

"You confessed?" Sam asked. "That must have taken a while. Have you found religion, Dean? I'm shocked there's a church willing to take someone like you."

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Lucifer shook his head curtly. "Let him talk, Dean. He's powerless." He led him to the desk against the wall and showed Dean the sheathed needles and wrapped syringes he'd set up. "Bobby said they are good enough for the task. Is there anything else you need?"

"No," Dean said. "This'll be fine." He tore the plastic from a syringe and capped it with a needle. He rolled up his sleeve and patted the large vein running the length of his forearm.

"Do you need help?" Bobby asked from the doorway.

Dean shook his head. "I don't know if it makes a difference, but I think it's better I do it all myself."

He inserted the needle, barely feeling the scratch, and drew up on the plunger. The chamber darkened with blood, and he took enough to fill it before pulling it out.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked conversationally, peering over his shoulder at them.

"Curing you," Dean said, walking toward him with the syringe of blood clasped in his hand.

"Of what?" Sam asked. "I'm not sick. Well, not in the traditional sense. Not sure about in the head. I think we all have differing opinions on that."

Lucifer touched a place on Sam's neck and he jerked away as much as he was able to in his restraints.

"There?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Lucifer grabbed Sam's head and held it to the side in spite of Sam's struggles.

With a shaking hand, Dean inserted the needle and pushed the blood into Sam, trying to ignore his angry growled words of hate.

* * *

As the hour between doses drew to a close, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He had stayed in the panic room for the hour with Lucifer, Sam and Crowley. Gabriel, Bobby and Castiel came and went, bringing coffee and offering silent comfort.

Dean didn't know if the curing would be a gradual process or if it would all happen with the last dose and exorcism, but it definitely wasn't happening yet. Sam was loud and sneering, and seemingly unconcerned by his predicament. He could have been lolling on a throne for all the attention he gave to his chains now.

He had moved his taunts from Dean for a time and fixated on Crowley's failings now, not seeming to be addressing anyone in particular. "Paperwork. All damn day it was contracts, form filling, and crap. Hell, he probably took it upon himself to pay the damn electric bill. And then, when he was taking one of his short breaks from that, he was busy settling pathetic disputes between the demons: 'someone stole the family I was torturing' – 'he told the hunters on me'. It was ridiculous. Demons under him were children. It was only when I came along that I added a little class to the situation, a little dignity to the job."

"Yeah? What did you do, Oh Sammy The Great?" Crowley asked.

"For one, I did away with ten-year contracts," he said. "I cut them down to a year only."

"And people make those deals?" Crowley asked curiously.

"Yeah. You gave humans too much credit. If they want something bad enough, if they're desperate enough, to spend eternity in Hell, they're not going to care too much about how long they get to enjoy their prize. I was developing quite a portfolio of souls to collect on."

"I'll be sure to take them over for you," Crowley said.

Sam snorted. "Yeah. That's going to happen."

"You'll note that I am actually still alive. You're the one they're choosing to cure. Lucifer is keeping me warm to take over the throne again when you're a human again. Ain't that right, Lucifer?"

Lucifer didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes until the second dose.

"You're alive because Satan hasn't rattled his uninspired brain to find a suitable death for you yet," Sam said. "He's waiting for a little guidance from me. As soon as this curing crap fails and I get free, I'll take care of you myself."

"You really think you're getting free?" Crowley asked.

"I know I am," Sam said serenely.

He sounded so certain that Dean had to wonder if he had some plan they didn't know about. Had he called in assistance somehow? He shook off the thought. The only one that had a chance of taking on Lucifer and Gabriel to free Sam was God, and He wasn't going to step in to save a demon.

"Dean," Lucifer said, breaking into his thoughts. "It's almost time."

Dean nodded and walked to the desk. He unwrapped a fresh needle and prepared to draw up the blood again.

* * *

Over the next two hours, Dean saw Sam was changing. It was hard to tell if it was because of the process of curing or if he was just feeling frustrated at his imprisonment, but he definitely became crueler. Lucifer alone seemed immune to his words. He stood staring him as if memorizing him. Dean wondered if there was something he could see that they couldn't. Was the taint of his true face maybe changing, becoming more human? Dean couldn't ask in front of Sam for fear of his ridicule. Though Sam didn't seem in the mood to ridicule right now; he was threatening instead, his now black eyes fixed on Dean.

"You know you're a dead man, right? I know you didn't get the brains in the family, but surely you worked out that much at least."

Dean stared back at him, trying to remain expressionless.

"You see, I told myself it was beneath me as a knight, a king, to kill humans. I thought it would be tacky as it was so easy, and it is, but there are exceptions to every rule. I made a mistake in letting you live as long as I did. I should have come back here the moment I woke as a demon and taken you all out. It would have solved so many problems. I wouldn't have to deal with the feathered assholes now. I wouldn't be here suffering your company and the injections of your foul blood in me. Ruby's blood seemed bad enough, but this is so much worse."

Dean swallowed hard at the comparison. He knew it wasn't really Sam saying it, it was his demon self, but it still destroyed him to hear it said.

"I would have missed out on some fun times, sure, like haunting you for a while, but it would have been worth it to be rid of you. That's over now though. I am going to kill you all. You'll be last, Dean," he said conversationally. "I want you to really suffer, and watching the people you care about die will really hurt a martyr like you. Satan will go first. He will be the greatest challenge but also the greatest pleasure."

"You really think you can do that?" Crowley asked with a raised eyebrow. "Not overreaching yourself at all there, Moose?"

"I can do it," Sam said. "I misjudged him before. I didn't think he would be able to actually do it, hurt _me_ , but he showed me how wrong I was. I won't let him go so far again. When he's dead, I'll find the Trickster. He'll die, and this time, I'll make sure it's the real deal. Bobby will go next. He'll probably be the easiest. I think his old and overtaxed heart will give out before I really start enjoying myself. Castiel will be next, after he's watched me kill Bobby, of course, and then you, Dean."

Dean looked away, but he couldn't block Sam's voice.

"I will let you keep your eyes so that you can see each inch of flesh exposed as I peel off your skin, strip by strip. I will make you feel your own organs inside your body with your own hands, and then I will take your still beating heart from your chest and ensure it is the last thing you ever see."

Dean didn't speak. He walked to the desk and drew up the blood. As he approached Sam with the needle, Sam snapped his teeth at him. Lucifer grabbed him and held his head to the side, Dean pressed the needle into Sam's neck and injected the blood.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

* * *

Sam was changing. He wasn't taunting; he seemed more thoughtful.

Crowley wasn't quiet. He seemed to have taken Sam's silence as weakness and had begun to taunt him in retaliation for Sam's earlier threats. Sam didn't even react, but Lucifer did. He punched Crowley across the jaw, and while the demon was reeling from the blow, he gagged him with a bandana to shut him up. Sam didn't seem concerned by what was happening. He didn't even look up when Lucifer did it. Whatever he was thinking, it consumed him.

Dean thought it might actually be easier to administer this dose as he went to the desk to draw up the blood, but he was wrong. When the chamber was filled and Lucifer holding his head, Sam looked into Dean's eyes and said, "You're destroying me. You know that, right?"

Dean flinched. "No."

"Yes. You really are. With every drop of your own blood you put into me, you're chipping away at me a little more."

"We're making you human again, Sam." Lucifer said. "You will be fine."

"I won't. I can feel it. You're making me human, yeah, I can see that, but I won't be fine. I feel more each time, and you know what I feel? I feel pain." He looked at Lucifer. "I can feel what I have done and been. You're taking away my peace and freedom, and when it's gone, I am going to feel it all. You will break me. It will kill me."

"No," Dean said angrily. "I won't let you hurt yourself again."

He could not, would not. If he had to watch Sam every minute of every day, he would. He would never let him do that again. He would not fail this time.

"You will," Sam said confidently. "Satan will bring me back, yeah, but me, the real me, will be gone. I will be dead."

Dean shook his head. This was just another trick to make them stop, just like the threats had been. He was trying to make it impossible for Dean to see it through.

"Yes. You know me, Dean. You know who I am. Do you really think I will be able to live knowing what I have done when there is no barrier between me and those things anymore? You will _never_ have me back. You will have a ruin."

"I will," Dean said angrily, jabbing the needle into his neck and depressing the plunger.

"Dad will finally get what he always wanted. You will kill me."

Dean walked away and dropped the syringe back onto the desk. He looked at the back of Sam's head as he nodded. "You're my murderer, Dean."

Dean strode out of the room without looking at him, clanging the door shut behind him.

* * *

Dean was in the basement still, unable to be in the panic room with Sam, but unable to be too far from him either. He was spending his time vacillating between staring at the door between them and beating on the punchbag.

It made him think of the seemingly endless days he had spent in the library while Sam was down there, working at the punchbag. He had been scared then that he was losing his brother, too. He'd had no idea just how bad it was actually going to be. His fear then was that he would lose him to Lucifer and grief. He knew now that outcome would have been better. Sam would at least still be there. As a demon they had lost him completely. Everything that made Sam who he was had been washed away and replaced with a monstrous version, a murdering, life ruining, animal.

And that was what he had to live with.

They had all known Sam wasn't going to make a return to humanity unharmed. He was going to suffer for what he had done, but Sam's certainty that it would kill him chilled Dean to the core. Death wouldn't be forever, not with Lucifer there, but to think that it would even be a moment was too much to bear.

Dean couldn't stand it.

He turned from the door, back to the punch bag. He started tapping it, then jabbing, and building it up until he was throwing himself into every blow, his arms and back burning with the strain.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and then Castiel appeared in his line of vision. He didn't speak at first; he just took the side of the bag opposite Dean and steadied it for him as he rained punches on it.

Only when Dean stopped, exhausted and panting in pain, did he say something. "Let me help you."

He walked to Dean and laid his hand on Dean's shoulder. He felt the warmth rush through him and the pain in his abused muscles vanishing.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Is it very terrible in there?" Castiel asked.

"It's worse." His eyes fixed on the closed door, he said. "Sam thinks it's killing him."

"It won't kill him. It will cure him. What he is feeling is the drain of his demonic self and return of his humanity. As an angel, I can see it. His demonic face is fading and his real face becoming more obvious to me.

"He says he will die when it's over, that he won't be able to live with what he's done. I'm scared he's right."

"He isn't," Castiel said firmly. "Sam is going to suffer for this, we all knew that before we started, but it won't be the end of him. He will find a way to live with it, just as you did your hell. Sam is strong as are you. He has faced so much in his life, and he will continue to do so. I have faith in him. He will be able to face this and overcome it."

"You think?" Dean asked.

"I promise."

Dean knew it was a baseless promise, but he felt some comfort from it regardless.

He heard a voice calling from inside the panic room. "Dean, it's time."

He raked a hand over his face and walked back the door. He turned, holding the handle. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel smiled. "You're doing well, Dean. We all see it. Be strong a little longer. It will soon be over."

Dean nodded and pulled open the door.

* * *

Dean's heart ached as he looked at his brother. He was crying. He didn't make a sound, but each time he blinked, a tear tracked down his cheek. His expression was blank, but he was obviously suffering so much; it tore Dean apart. Lucifer was suffering, too, Dean could tell. He watched Sam mournfully, looking as if he was carrying every second of his long life on his shoulders.

Dean was tired, too. He thought when all this was finally over, he would need to sleep for a week. There would be no chance of that as Sam would need him there, but when he rested, Dean would, too.

"It is time," Lucifer said heavily.

Dean went to the desk and prepared the needle. He pumped his fist to draw the vein then pierced his skin with the needle and drew up the blood.

He carried it over to Sam, and Sam's mask broke finally as a fresh tear streaked down his cheek. His mouth pressed together in a thin line as if he was holding back a sob.

"Sammy?" Dean said gently.

Sam shook his head, no words escaping him. His eyes turned black again, as if he was reminding Dean of who he really was. They looked odd with the tears leaking from them. He had never seen a demon cry before.

Lucifer reached for his head to hold it, but Sam yanked away. "No!" he shouted. "Don't touch me!"

"Sam," Lucifer said mournfully.

"Stay away from me," Sam growled. "You did this to me! It was your Mark, your failure that made me do it. You promised you would always come!"

"I am so sorry," Lucifer said. "I always wanted to come. I was fighting to come back to you all the time I was gone."

"You failed," Sam snapped. "You destroyed me. This is your fault. I wish I had never met you. I should never have loved you. You should have left me dead. It would have been better for me."

"I couldn't," Lucifer said. "I needed you."

"You were selfish," Sam spat. "Look at me now. Look what's going to happen to me. You did this, Satan!"

Lucifer flinched at the name and stepped back. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"It's too late," Sam said. He tilted his head to the side without Lucifer's assistance, and sat unmoving as Dean broke the skin with the needle and pushed the blood into him, his chest aching with sorrow.

* * *

They were all gathered. Lucifer and Dean stood with Sam, the last syringe of blood ready in Dean's hand. Castiel and Bobby stood a little back, and Gabriel lingered in the doorway. Crowley watched them carefully, unable to speak but his interest obvious.

Sam was looking up at Dean with an expression of agony on his black-eyed face. "Please, don't," he begged. "Don't kill me. This will be the end of me."

"You can do this, Sam. I know you can handle it," Dean said.

"I can't! I won't!"

Dean shook his head. "I have to."

"You're killing me!"

"I'm saving you," he argued.

Sam sucked in a breath. "I will never forgive you for this." He turned his gaze on Lucifer. "And you! I will never forgive you if you let him do this to me."

"We love you," Lucifer said heavily. "We have to do it." He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "It is time, Dean."

Dean drew a breath and brought the needle to Sam's neck. Sam tilted his head, his black eyes fixed on Dean. He looked wrecked, and Dean had to remind himself that he was doing this _for_ Sam to make it himself depress the plunger. The blood flowed into Sam, and as he removed it, Sam wept.

"Here," Lucifer said, holding out a piece of paper to Dean. "Read this and put your bloodied palm to his mouth."

Dean took the paper and memorized it and then pulled a switchblade from his pocket. He cut across his palm and looked stared into Sam's eyes as he brought his hand to Sam's mouth.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said gently.

Sam looked back up at him and Dean felt the tension of the room as if it was a living thing.

He pressed his hand over Sam's mouth and chanted the required Latin, " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus... Hanc animam redintegra... Lustra! Lustra!"_

As Sam's head flew back, Dean had to grip him hard to hold his hand in place over his mouth. Bright white light blazed beneath his palm and in Sam's eyes, flooding the room.

"Sam!" he said, panicked.

The light bled away but Sam's eyes were squeezed closed and his breaths came in quick gasps. Dean felt himself being shoved away and he stumbled back into Castiel's arms. Lucifer bent over Sam, cradling his head and patting his bloodied cheeks. "Sam? Sam, please, look at me," he begged in a wrecked voice.

Sam's eyes opened, and they were hazel again, bloodshot and wet. He blinked and looked at Lucifer. A frown creased his brow. "Lucifer?" he said breathily.

With that one word, Dean knew it had worked.

Sam was saved.

* * *

 **So… Sammy is back. I'm kinda sad to see Demon Sam go. He was a lot of fun to write when he was evil.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	39. Chapter 38

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and Gredelina1 for helping and supporting.**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Thirty-Eight_**

Sam's brow furrowed as he looked at Lucifer. There was incomprehension in his eyes, and disbelief, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Lucifer?"

Lucifer felt a blissful smile spread across his face. It was Sam; not a demon, not a ruin, it was the man he loved.

"I'm here!" Lucifer peppered his face with kisses, not caring that his mouth was covered with Dean's blood. He just felt Sam beneath his lips, warm and familiar and perfect. "I love you. I love you so much, Sam. I love you."

Sam pulled back to look Lucifer in the eyes hopefully. "You came back?"

"I came back. I am sorry I was gone. I will never leave you again. I swear I will kill anyone that tries to tear us apart. I won't fail you again."

"This isn't a dream?" Sam asked.

Lucifer slammed his lips to Sam's and kissed him, pouring everything he felt into it. Sam returned it, only pulling back to breathe shallowly.

"Does it feel like a dream?" Lucifer asked.

"No," Sam said with a weak laugh. Happy tears streamed down his face and Lucifer kissed them away. "You're really here. You came back."

"I came back," Lucifer agreed. "I will _always_ come back."

Sam looked so happy, blissfully so, and Lucifer wondered if they could possibly be lucky enough for it to work out. Sam didn't seem to know what had happened. He didn't know Lucifer was back until now. Did that mean he couldn't remember what he had done? Was God behind this? Had he blessed Lucifer by saving Sam from those memories?

Sam kissed him and whispered against his lips, "Thank you."

"I love you," Lucifer said again.

He was so happy, deliriously so. Every threat Sam had made as a demon seemed to have been washed away. He didn't blame him for the Mark or for the pain of the curing, as he didn't feel that pain now. They had all expected him to suffer, and he wasn't. He was _Sam_ again.

Suddenly, Sam bucked as if given an electric shock.

"Sam?" Lucifer said, cupping his cheeks. "What's wrong?"

Sam's eyes widened, and he looked horrified. "No," he whispered.

"Look at me, Sam," Lucifer commanded. "Look at me only and not what you see inside. See my face and hear my voice. Only me. Nothing else matters but this. You are safe."

Lucifer could see he was trying, but whatever was in his mind was more powerful than Lucifer's words. He blinked, and a tear slid down his cheek. His face crumped and he sucked in a shaky breath. "Did I really do all that? Did I hurt all those people?"

Lucifer's heart broke. He _did_ remember. God had not blessed them. Sam was going to suffer for it.

He stroked his cheek and looked into Sam's wet and scared eyes. "It wasn't your fault."

He expected tears, pain, anger even, but what happened was even worse. Sam nodded once, slumped forward in his chains and bowed his head.

"Sam!" Dean shouted. "Sammy!"

With hands that wanted to tremble, Lucifer lifted his chin gently and looked at his expressionless but tear-painted face. "Sam?" he said gently.

"Is he alive?" Dean asked, panicked.

Lucifer nodded, watching Sam's even breaths moving his chest. "Yes."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and Castiel murmured to him.

Lucifer patted his cheeks gently. "Look at me, Sam. Open your eyes. See me."

Sam's eyes opened but he could not obey the other commands. They were empty, his gaze unfocused; he seemed to stare right though Lucifer as if he wasn't there.

"Come back to me," Lucifer begged. "Don't leave me. I need you. Please, Sam."

Sam did not, could not, react. Though his eyes were open, his lungs moving and his heart beating slowly in his chest, Sam was gone.

Lucifer held Sam's head against him so their foreheads were touching and rubbed the back of his neck gently. "I love you, Sam," he murmured. "I am here. I won't go anywhere. I promise. Just come back to me."

* * *

It seemed to Dean that he spent a whole lifetime in the panic room, watching Lucifer holding Sam. Time had no meaning as he waited for Lucifer to find the right words to reach him. Nothing worked. Sam remained empty, gaze void, gone.

"We should unchain him," Castiel said, speaking for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Here," Gabriel said, holding out a small key.

Dean snatched it out of his hand and walked behind Sam. The chains were crisscrossed around Sam's chest and back, linked with a heavy padlock at the small of his back. Dean unlocked it and quickly unwound the chains. He tangled them, and his breath came quicker as he fought to get them free; he didn't realize he was crying until he felt the warmth on his cheeks.

"Let me help," Gabriel said gently.

Dean stepped back and watched as Gabriel made short work of removing the chains. The only sign Lucifer gave of knowing what they were doing was to pull Sam closer against him.

"We should move him, Lucifer," Gabriel said. "Heal him. Get him out of those clothes. Make him comfortable. He doesn't need to be in this place anymore."

Lucifer nodded and straightened. He pressed a hand to Sam's temple, healing his hand and arm, and then bent to pick Sam up. Dean placed a hand on his arm. "I don't think you need to," he said.

If Sam was like he had been last time this had happened, he would be able to follow commands. They had been able to make him do basic human things then, the minimum needed to take care of him. He thought they should try now, too, to gauge how far Sam was gone.

"Stand up, Sammy," he said.

Without a word, Sam rose to his feet and stood with his arms slack at his sides.

"What's happening?" Lucifer asked, rising to his feet to meet Sam.

"It's a type of catatonia," Bobby said. "He's still in there; he just can't cope with what's happened, so he is protecting himself by shutting down."

"How long will it last?" Lucifer asked.

"Last time it happened, about two weeks," Dean said heavily.

"What happened? How did you fix him?"

"We didn't," Dean said. "He joined you in the Cage."

"He never told me," Lucifer said. "Why did he never tell me?"

Bobby shrugged. "I guess he didn't want to hurt you."

Lucifer cupped Sam's cheek. "You should have told me."

For all the reaction he got, Lucifer might as well have said it to the door. Sam just stood, waiting for his next command.

"We're going upstairs now, Sammy" Dean said. "Come with us, okay?"

Lucifer took Sam's hand and led him toward the door. With slow movements, Sam trailed after him, up the stairs.

In the hall, Lucifer said, "I am going to get you out of these clothes, now, Sam. Come with me."

Leaving the others to go into the library, Dean followed Sam and Lucifer up the stairs. Lucifer took Sam into the bathroom and stopped at the door. "Do you have any of Sam's clothes here?" he asked.

"I've got his duffel. I'll go get it."

Dean collected it from the bedroom and carried it back to the bathroom. Dean could hear the shower running now, and Lucifer's voice speaking softly.

"You're okay. We're just cleaning you up. You're safe, Sam. Nothing will hurt you again. Just come back to me."

Dean knocked, and Lucifer opened the door. He was bare-chested and damp from where he had been cleaning Sam up. He took the duffel with a word of thanks.

"How is he?" Dean asked, hoping at least for the minutest improvement.

"The same. Thank you, Dean. We won't be long."

Recognizing the dismissal, Dean nodded and headed to the stairs.

He needed a drink.

* * *

Lucifer was sitting at the table with Sam. A bowl of soup was in front of him, and Lucifer was trying to persuade Sam to eat. Sam would hold the spoon easily enough, but he wouldn't make the movements to bring it to his lips. Lucifer knew he had to be hungry, as there was no knowing whether he had eaten anything as a demon at all, and he had been back hours now and not even touched the water Lucifer tried to make him drink.

He remembered that Sam had never exactly relished the canned food Bobby seemed to live on, but they had suggested Sam start with something easy on the stomach to let himself get used to solid food again. He wondered now if he would have done better to have someone collect something from the diner that Sam would prefer. He had always loved pancakes. Perhaps next time he would try that.

"Was he like this before, too?" he asked Bobby.

Bobby shook his head. "We could get him to eat usually. We just put it in front of him and told him to have at it and he did. This is new."

Lucifer sighed. "Then it's worse this time."

"Yes," Dean agreed. "It's worse."

"Sam," Lucifer said desperately. "Please eat something."

Sam stared blankly across the room, blinking occasionally, not giving any reaction to his words.

"Does he even hear me?" he asked the room.

"Yes," Castiel said. "He is following your commands."

Lucifer closed his eyes. "Yes, but does he _hear_ me? Does he know I am here really?"

He had a very real fear that Sam was so closed off that he couldn't even register that they were around him, supporting him and needing him to come back. If he didn't know, how would he ever come back? He wouldn't know there was anything waiting for him.

"Yes," Dean said. "Last time, when he seemed to be coming back, it was because he heard me and Bobby talking about him. It was a bit different then, as he was talking sometimes, but he could definitely hear us, and I'm sure he can now. He's just not ready to come out yet. It's too painful."

Lucifer hated to think of Sam in pain at any time, but it was so much worse because he had caused it. He had had passed the Mark onto Cain and him onto Sam. He hadn't told him about it because he didn't want to admit his shame. He should have warned him. Sam would never have taken the Mark had he known what it really meant. Or would he? Had Lucifer corrupted him so completely with his love that he would think it was still a viable choice to make to save him?

"I've ruined him," he said bleakly.

"No," Bobby argued. "You've loved him. There's a difference."

"Wouldn't it be better for him if he never loved me?"

"No," Bobby said. "He was better for loving you. It's never a waste to love someone. Look at how happy he was with you before."

"But look at him _now_!" Lucifer said, gesturing at the broken man beside him. "Look at what I have done! He warned us, and we didn't listen. He said it would destroy him, kill him, and it has. He's just still breathing."

"He's not dead!" Dean said harshly. "Don't let him hear you say that! Not you. He's still here, living; he just needs time to come back to us—to get over what happened."

"Do you really think he will?" Lucifer asked.

"Yes," Dean said. "I've never loved like you and Sam have, or Bobby has, not really, but I have loved my family, and I would never let go of any of that, even though it's hurt me sometimes. Sam will come back _because_ he loves. He just needs time."

Bobby nodded. "He's right. We just have to give him time."

Lucifer stared into Sam's empty eyes, hoping desperately that Bobby was right. He wasn't sure how to live without Sam.

* * *

In the week since Sam had been 'cured', Dean had taken to sleeping on the couch so that Sam and Lucifer could be alone in the bedroom. Lucifer lay in the small twin bed beside Sam, just holding him. Dean knew as he had gone to collect some clean clothes one morning and found them together. Lucifer hadn't even looked at him.

Dean had made sure to bring clean clothes out with him each evening after that so that he would not disturb them again.

He didn't know whether Sam was sleeping naturally or if Lucifer was helping him to fall asleep at night. Sam wasn't showing the effects of tiredness as he had last time, but neither was he showing weight loss despite the fact he hadn't eaten a thing since he came back. Lucifer was sustaining him with his grace. Dean hated that it was necessary for him to do it. This seemed so much worse than last time. Even Lucifer wasn't able to help him, and Dean had been so sure his presence would have been enough to do it for Sam.

When he got out of the bathroom the morning a week after Sam's return, he saw Lucifer leading Sam down to the library. He followed and listened as Lucifer carefully guided and encouraged. When Sam was seated on the couch and Lucifer turned, he saw the difference in the angel. He looked wired and alive in a way he hadn't since he'd come back.

"What?" Dean asked. He looked past him to Sam, hoping he would see some sign of improvement in his brother. There was none. Sam looked just as numb to his surroundings as he had every other time Dean had looked at him. "What is it, Lucifer?"

"I have an idea," he said. "I was watching Sam sleep last night, and I realized something."

Dean gestured for him to go on, but Lucifer shook his head.

"I need to speak to you all first."

Dean banged up the stairs and knocked loudly on Bobby's door. He heard grumbling inside and Bobby open the door wearing one shoe and holding the other in his hand. "What? Is it Sam?"

"I don't know," Dean said. "Lucifer has had an idea. He needs all of us."

Bobby clumped out of the room and down the stairs and into the library, one shoe still in his hand, with Dean. Castiel was back, as was Gabriel. Dean was surprised to see the archangel since he had been absent for the last week.

"What's the idea?" Bobby asked.

Lucifer moved his gaze from Sam and looked at Gabriel questioningly. "I want to dream walk with Sam."

Gabriel frowned. "Is that a good idea?"

"I don't know," Lucifer said. "That is why I called you here."

"What's the problem?" Dean asked. "Why wouldn't you do it if it can help?"

"Because it might not," Gabriel said thoughtfully. "It could hurt him."

Dean tensed. "How?"

"Sam is closed off because he can't cope with what happened," Gabriel said. "I've seen it a few times."

"You have?" Castiel asked.

"I didn't always kill people or make them slow-dance with aliens, you know. I sometimes took a pretty big dick that didn't quite deserve death and scared them into catatonia."

"Oh," Castiel said. "I suppose that makes sense."

"But how is it dangerous?" Dean asked.

"You know how they say if you die in a dream, you die in real life?" Gabriel asked. "Same goes for trauma. You hurt in a dream, you really hurt."

"When you're dreaming, you're actually at your most open," Lucifer said. "You cannot lie in a dream, and you cannot protect yourself."

"Ever dreamed someone was chasing you and you were running through molasses?" Gabriel asked.

Dean nodded, though in his dream it was being chased by a hellhound and running through the stacked corpses of everyone he had tortured on the rack.

"It's that. You have no defenses in your own mind. Sam can't defend himself from Lucifer. He will be forced to face him. That could make it even worse for him." Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest. "And it's risky for Lucifer, too."

"How?"

"Say he does find Sam in there, say he's living his peaceful little life in his head, his own version of the Cage, what does Lucifer do if he finds him?"

"Talk to him?" Bobby suggested. "Make him come back to us."

"Perhaps," Gabriel said. "Or he could decide to set up shop in Sam's head and stay there forever."

Dean looked at Lucifer who had turned back to Sam. He wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of Lucifer sticking around in Sam's head for the rest of his life.

"Okay," Bobby said. "The risks are we hurt Sam worse or lose Lucifer. What's the chances of it helping?"

"You tell me Sam can really hear us," Lucifer said. "I am not convinced. I need to talk to him and have him truly hear me. If I can reach him in his dreams, I can perhaps make him understand how much we need him to come back. There's a chance it will be the push Sam needs to come back." He looked at Dean. "I cannot make this choice. My judgment is not the best because I am also motivated by the chance he will be there, himself again, and I can be with him. You have to decide if it is worth the risk to Sam to get him back."

Dean closed his eyes. He wanted to do it, despite the risk to Sam. He wanted to seize this chance that they would have him back. The fact it could hurt him wasn't enough of a reason to not do it. Surely, he couldn't hurt any worse that he already was. He didn't think his judgment was the best either though.

"Bobby? Cas?" he asked, seeking guidance.

"I don't know," Castiel said. "I don't feel it is my place to guide you."

"Bobby?"

"I think we have to try," Bobby said. "We need him back, and he needs to come back for himself. He's just… existing… like this. He's not really alive. I say do it."

Dean nodded. "Me too. Do it, Lucifer. Find him and bring him back."

Lucifer smiled slightly. "I will." He knelt in front of Sam on his place on the couch and kissed him once on the lips and said, "I am coming for you, Sam."

Sam stared right through him, and then his eyes closed as Lucifer pressed his fingers to Sam's temple. He slumped forward and Lucifer caught him, giving gentle words of comfort as he adjusted him to lie down on the couch.

"Do we do it now?" Bobby asked. "Or do you have to wait for him to be deep in it enough to dream?"

"There is no need to wait," Lucifer said. "The sleep I create doesn't come in stages. He will be ready to dream soon." He stared down at Sam and smiled suddenly as Sam's eyes began to move beneath their lids.

"REM," Bobby said.

"He is dreaming." Lucifer he drew a deep breath and pressed his fingertips to Sam's temples.

Dean felt his breath become shallow. He watched Sam carefully for a sign of more movement, reaction, anything to make them think Lucifer had reached him.

It seemed to take forever but he saw by the clock that it was only a few minutes before Lucifer pulled back with a gasp. Dean watched Sam's face, but he still seemed to be sleeping and dreaming.

"It didn't work," he stated.

Lucifer shook his head mournfully. "It didn't."

"Couldn't you reach him?" Gabriel asked.

"He's not there," Lucifer said. "He is within his mind, I mean; he's not gone completely, but he is as closed in his dreams as he is awake. He is just…" He stopped himself and smoothed a hand over Sam's forehead gently.

"What?" Bobby pressed. "What's he doing?"

Lucifer closed his eyes looking pained. "He is curled in a ball on the floor of this room. There is nothing around him but the furniture covered in sheets. There isn't even light. He just lays there in the darkness. He did not register me at all."

"You said that was impossible," Dean growled. "You said he can't protect himself."

Lucifer shook his head. "I was wrong. Sam has found a way."

* * *

 **So… That didn't go quite as planned. Poor Sam, trapped inside himself, and poor Dean and Lucifer, trapped outside.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	40. Chapter 39

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing for me and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirty-Nine**_

It was late afternoon. Lucifer was sitting with Sam on the couch, holding his hand and stroking his thumb over Sam's palm.

Since his failed attempted to reach Sam that morning in his dream, things had been quiet. Dean had gone into the basement, and after a time, Castiel had followed him. Lucifer could hear them talking, but he didn't listen to the words they were saying, just the rise and fall of their voices with intermittent blows to the punchbag. Bobby was at the desk, paging through a thick book but seeming to take no meaning from the words he was supposed to be reading. Gabriel was there, too, outside somewhere. Lucifer could sense him moving around, the strength of his grace shining through.

Lucifer was trying and failing to think of a way to reach Sam. When he'd had the idea to dream walk, it had seemed perfect. But what he had seen there had been horrifying. Sam was completely alone in the dark and sparse room. The place that had always meant family to him was empty and cold, no other living soul in sight, and Sam was completely and impossibly closed off. If Lucifer just knew how he had done it, managed to protect himself that way, he would have a way to save him, he was sure.

He felt Gabriel's grace approaching and the door swung open. "I have it!" he said excitedly. "I know what he did."

Bobby's head snapped up. "You do?"

Gabriel nodded as he walked into the hall and shouted down into the basement. "You two, get up here!"

"What is it, Gabriel?" Lucifer asked.

Gabriel held up a hand and waited for Dean and Castiel come into the room.

Dean's eyes moved to Sam at once, and seeing no improvement, he shook his head dolefully. "What's going on?"

"I think I have worked out what did it," Gabriel said. "No human should be able to protect themselves in a dream, right? Even the trauma Sam's got bouncing around his head and his reaction to it shouldn't be enough to stop Lucifer reaching him in his dreams, right?"

"Yes. What are you getting at?" Lucifer asked.

"We've been treating Sam as completely human," he said. "And we're wrong."

"Are you talking about demon blood?" Dean asked, his mouth downturned with distaste.

"No! I'm talking about the Mark! That powered Sam up in all kinds of way. It made him a Knight. He still has it!"

Lucifer glanced at the raised symbol on Sam's forearm, visible below the sleeve of the cotton t-shirt he had dressed him in. He was so used to see it there that he didn't always notice it anymore. It was just another part of Sam. He thought he understood what Gabriel was saying now though.

"You think that is protecting him?"

"Yes," Gabriel said emphatically. "Think about it, Lucifer. How else could he do it?"

"I don't know," Lucifer admitted.

"So we have to get it off him," Dean said. "But I thought he had to pass it on himself. How is he supposed to give it up like this?"

"That won't be a problem," Gabriel said, waving his hand through the air. "He's given up everything else already. He won't cling to that."

Lucifer frowned. "It could work."

"Damn right it could. Now get working. You calling him here or going to him?"

"Calling who?" Bobby asked.

"Cain," Gabriel said. "It time for him to take back the laundry load."

"You think he'll take it back?" Dean asked.

"I don't think we'll give him a choice," Gabriel said. "Lucifer?"

"I don't want to leave Sam," Lucifer said, stroking a hand through his lover's hair.

"Then we'll bring him here," Gabriel said. "Where do you keep the candles, Singer?"

"I'll get everything," Dean said. He went to the cabinet and pushed aside the liquor to get to the bowl and other necessities for a summoning. He loaded the required items into the bowl and carried it to the table.

Lucifer kissed Sam's cheek, whispered that he would be close, and then got to his feet and went to help Dean set up the table. When the herbs were tipped into the bowl, he cut across his palm and dripped the blood over them, sure that Cain would require the summoning of an archangel to obey. He flicked his fingers and the candles lit and the herbs caught. He called the summoning chant and there was a tense silence before Cain appeared. He looked around the room, taking in the anxious faces, his eyes finally coming to rest on Sam and he frowned.

"You told me he was a demon," he said mildly.

"He was," Lucifer said. "I saved him."

"It doesn't look like you did a very good job. He looks decidedly unsaved to me. What did you do to him, Lucifer?"

Gabriel bristled. "Lucifer did nothing. This is your handiwork. You gave him the Mark!"

Cain nodded. "I did. He needed it and I wanted him to have it. I am sorry for what has happened to him now, though. Perhaps you shouldn't have _saved_ him, Lucifer."

At no point in the past two weeks of living with the shell of the man he loved had Lucifer thought that he shouldn't have saved him. Leaving Sam to continue as a demon was the worst fate for him. Not because of the world that was at risk from him or the people that were suffering through Sam, but because Sam was being ruined by it. Even if he never got him back, he would have made the right choice, because Sam as a demon was not really Sam.

Lucifer shook his head, carefully avoiding the eyes of the others in case he saw their agreement in their eyes. He didn't want to see that or their blame.

"Why did you summon me here?" Cain asked. "I am assuming it was to do more than to show me the result of my gift."

"We want to return it," Gabriel said. "We've got the receipt and everything. It was thoughtful and all, but ultimately unwanted."

Cain narrowed his eyes at him, and Gabriel stared back at him, not an iota of give in his gaze.

"Why would I take it back?" he asked. "This seems an even better punishment for you than giving it to him in the first place."

Gabriel tapped his chin. "How about because, if you don't, we're going to 'save' you next."

Lucifer nodded, a grim smile curving his lips. "This is Sam with his conscience returned after months of being a demon and living with the things he has done. Imagine what it would do to you to feel your millennia of demon cruelty if I gave you a human conscience. Do you think you would handle it any better than him?"

"I am not afraid of you, Lucifer," he said.

"Perhaps not. But I think you would be right to be afraid of yourself."

Cain's lips pressed into a thin line. "He will need to give up the Mark. I don't think he's capable of giving anything up at all at the moment, do you?"

Lucifer felt a wave of relief with the question. He knew Cain would do it. The motivation didn't matter.

"He has given everything up now," he said. "Including me. I don't think the Mark will be a problem; it can have no more use for him now in this state. I believe the Mark was what did this to him even."

He remembered what had happened. Sam had been so happy, free, and then he had jolted as if electrocuted. He thought that was the Mark reaping revenge on him at its defeat, knowing Sam would be useless to it with his cure. Perhaps that was why Sam wasn't craving the Blade now. It wasn't because he was shut down as Lucifer had thought, but because it was no good to him now.

"And the Blade?" Cain asked.

Gabriel snorted. "You say that as if you don't already know where I stowed it," he said. "We all know the truth."

"You can have it," Lucifer said. "As long as you can control it."

"I have always been able to control it." He nodded slowly. "I will do it, take it back, but this will be the end of our business together, Lucifer. You will not come to me again."

"Wait!" Gabriel said quickly. "There's something else we need to iron out." He looked at Lucifer. "Crowley."

"He's alive?" Cain asked. "I thought you would have killed him already."

"I will," Lucifer said. "But when I do, it will leave Hell without guidance. I have no desire to take the helm again. There needs to be a replacement."

"You want _me_ to rule Hell?"

"Don't say it like you never wanted to," Gabriel said. "You couldn't take the helm in the good old days with Lilith in charge. But she's gone. Someone needs to balance it out."

Lucifer saw a gleam in Cain's eyes, but when he spoke his tone was mild. "I will think about it."

Gabriel opened his mouth, but Lucifer shook his head. He knew Cain had already decided to do it. This was just him stretching his ability to refuse Lucifer. No matter how little he wanted to serve him in any capacity, he would be more than eager to take up the throne, and Lucifer knew he would be a good leader to have. Not overly ambitious. Just happy to be in charge.

"Now, Sam…" he said.

Cain walked toward Sam where he sat on the couch and looked down at him. Lucifer crossed the room and encouraged Sam to stand, then lifted his arm out to Cain who took Sam's forearm.

"Hold onto him," Lucifer whispered to Sam.

Sam's fingers closed around Cain's arm, though he continued to look blank.

"I don't think it's going to work," Cain said, and Lucifer thought he sounded disappointed.

He leaned in close to Sam and whispered in his ear. "Let it go, Sam. It's going to help you. Just let it go."

He looked down as the Mark began to glow. Slowly, light streaked in lines down Sam's arm and up Cain's.

"That's it, Sam," Lucifer encouraged. "Just like that."

The light seeped out of Sam and the Mark formed itself on Cain's forearm. He released Sam and rubbed at the Mark, looking almost relieved. Lucifer watched him and then his eyes snapped back to Sam as Dean said his name excitedly.

Sam was engaged. His gaze was moving slowly between his bare-skinned arm to Cain's where the Mark now raised the skin. A smiled curved his lips, and Lucifer's heart leapt. It was working. Sam was coming back.

"Sam!" he said. "Look at me!"

When Sam failed to obey, he cupped his cheeks and lifted his face. Sam stared into his eyes for a moment, that small smile in place, and then it faded and his eyes became distant again.

"No!" Lucifer cried. "Sam!"

Sam gave no reaction that he could hear him or see him. He was still lost.

* * *

In the two weeks following Cain's summoning and consequent taking on the Mark, nothing changed. Each day fell into a pattern; Lucifer would bring Sam down in the morning, and apart from the times he sat at the table, failing to eat or drink, Sam stayed on the couch where he was put, not engaging with anything or anyone in the room around him.

They all grew more disheartened by the day, and Dean had begun to realize this was it now. Sam was never going to be the man he had been again.

It was rare for Lucifer to leave Sam, so when he came down to the basement where Dean was pummeling his anger into the punchbag while Castiel steadied it for him, he was surprised. Lucifer looked somber, dark, but not any more worried that he usually did, so Dean didn't panic.

"Is Sam okay?" he asked.

"He is with Gabriel and Bobby," Lucifer said. "He is… unchanged.

"What is happening, Lucifer?" Castiel asked.

Dean watched him carefully as he considered his reply.

"I have decided it is time to… deal… with Crowley. Cain has taken the mantle in Hell, and there is no need for Crowley anymore."

"You're killing him, right?" Dean said.

"No," Lucifer said. "You are." His archangel sword fell into his hand and he held it out to Dean by the handle. "I think you owe him as much if not more than I do."

Dean's mouth dropped open. He had wanted Crowley dead since he found out what he had done—intentionally—to Sam, but he had accepted the fact it would be Lucifer's kill. He had told himself that as long as it ended with Crowley dead, it wouldn't matter, but now he was eager to take the kill himself.

He held out his hand and Lucifer slapped the blade into it.

"I know you're probably hoping to cause some pain before you end him, but I would advise against," Lucifer said. "No pain that we can cause would bother someone as twisted as Crowley. All it would do is please him as he saw you shed layers of humanity to do it. I suggest you end him as swiftly as you can manage."

Dean thought he was right. Crowley would get a kick out of Dean tapping into the part of himself that had been created in Hell. He would want to see Dean change. He nodded. "I'll do it quick."

Lucifer pulled back the bolts to the panic room door and swung it open. Dean followed him in and saw Crowley's forced smile. He looked worse for the month he had spent trapped, not nearly as broken as Sam, but his eyes showed that the solitary confinement had hurt him.

He had clearly heard what they were saying outside the door, but he forced a smile for them when Lucifer removed the gag and said, "Is it time for the exercise yard, Warden?"

"No," Lucifer said. "It is time for you to die."

"Is that right? And Dean's your chosen weapon. That's pretty low of you, Lucifer. After all I did for him, he's going to end me?"

"What you did for me?" Dean growled. "You destroyed my brother!"

"I helped you get Metatron, didn't I? You were practically begging for my help then."

Dean shook his head. "You did nothing that wasn't for yourself."

Crowley nodded. "I guess. I mean, it was me working with Metatron in the first place that got the angels locked away, so I supposed I have a portion of blame to share."

Dean's heart lurched. "You did it?"

"Well, if you mean did I track Metatron down, tell him what was happening, manipulate him like silly putty, and gather the ingredients for the spell, then, yeah, I did it."

Dean's grip on the sword tightened as he stared at the demon with loathing.

"Do it, Dean," Lucifer said darkly.

Dean walked to stand directly in front of Crowley where he sat bound and brought the tip of the blade to rest over his heart.

"He won't do it," Crowley said. "He'll fail like he does everything and everyone. Like Sam. You really screwed–"

He cut off as Dean shoved the blade so deep into his chest that it scraped the back of the chair he sat in. His eyes widened and then became glazed as the life left him. Dean felt nothing at his death but a sense of regret that it had not hurt him more.

Dean dragged back the blade and handed it to Lucifer. "Thanks."

Lucifer took it and wiped it on Crowley's sleeve.

"I will have Gabriel clear him away. Now, there is something we need to talk about."

Worried, Dean followed him back up the stairs into the library. Bobby was sitting beside Sam on the couch. Dean perched on the arm the other side of him and looked at Lucifer who was watching Sam, his face sad.

"What's going on?" Dean asked.

"I have been thinking," Lucifer said heavily. "I think I need to take Sam away. I think he needs space to heal and time."

Castiel drew a sharp breath, looking shocked.

"Why would you take him away from us?" Dean asked. "If he needs more space, we'll give it to him, but why not here?"

Lucifer looked him in the eye. "Because I believe he needs perfect peace."

"How long are you thinking?" Bobby asked.

"As long as it takes."

Dean shook his head. "No. You can't take him away. We'll give him peace here where we can all take care of him. What place is better than his home anyway?"

"Another place he calls home."

Dean flinched back from the word, understanding Castiel's reaction at last. "You mean the Cage."

"Yes. I think it our only chance for him. I believe Sam is going to need longer to heal from this than his human life can allow. If I take him, he can have all the time he needs to come to terms with that happened."

"You can't take him away," Dean said.

"Don't you want him back?" Gabriel asked. "Don't you want him as something more than a piece of bad performance art beside you?"

"Screw you," Dean said bitterly. "You have no idea what I want." He glared at Lucifer. "Is this why you gave me Crowley? So that I'd agree to this bullshit?"

"No," Lucifer said, frowning. "I gave you Crowley because you deserved to have him. I am doing this because Sam deserves to have a chance to _live_ the rest of his life not just exist for the duration. I can sustain him but I cannot heal his mind. He can only do that himself."

"You can't take him away," Dean said again. "I have lost him so many times already. I can't do it again."

He had lost him to Jake, and then almost completely to Ruby. Sam had been trapped with Lucifer when he went to protect Dean, and then to the Cage for two years of Dean's life. He had gone to Purgatory and then, when they'd barely gotten him back, he had lost him in the worst possible way when he'd become a demon. Now he was gone while he was still there, and Dean couldn't lose that tenuous connection to his brother.

"You have to think of Sam," Gabriel said in a far gentler tone than Dean was used to hearing from him. "It's what he needs."

Dean shook his head. "He needs me."

Gabriel smiled sympathetically, the answer in his eyes: he doesn't.

"Give me time, Dean," Lucifer begged. "Just a year or two."

Dean's stomach clenched. "Years! It can't take that long! That's forever in the Cage." It would feel like a lifetime to Dean.

"He might need forever," Castiel said quietly.

Dean lurched to his feet and advanced on him. "What would you know? You told me he'd be okay. You said he was strong!"

"He is," Castiel said. "And I still believe he will be okay in time, but you need to give that time to him. Let Lucifer take him away and help him. This is your best chance, the best chance for all of us, to have Sam again. Don't you want to speak to him and have him be able to reply? Can you truly stand to spend much longer looking at him as he is? If you don't let this happen, he may never come back."

"Let me take him," Lucifer pleaded. "I won't do it unless you agree, but you know how much I love Sam. I wouldn't take him from you if I thought there was any other way."

Dean felt like he was being torn apart. He couldn't bear to let this happen, but he knew that was a selfish thought. Sam needed to be taken away to heal. It was probably their only shot left. He looked back at Sam's empty gaze and knew the choice was not his or Lucifer's to make. It was Sam's. He couldn't make it though, so they had to act for him. Sam would want to go. He would want a chance to heal. He would let Dean go if it was the other way around.

"How will you get out again?" he asked in a dead voice.

Lucifer sighed with relief as he heard the acceptance behind the question. "Gabriel will have the rings. He will come often to see when we are ready to return."

Dean nodded and wiped a hand over his face to smear the traitorous tears that had spilled. "Okay. But you have to do something for me. If this doesn't work, if Sam isn't healed in our lifetime, however long that ends up being, don't bring him back. If we're gone, the earth has nothing for him anymore. Cas can come to you there, but we won't be here for him. Let him have the peace that place gives him."

"I can do one better," Lucifer said. "If I can heal Sam but not within your lifetime, I will bring him to Heaven. There is a place there waiting for you to share, and I will make sure you have it. It might take time, but I will reunite you both."

"And if he doesn't heal?" Dean asked. "What will you do then?"

"That is your choice to make. I can bring him to you anyway, so we can look after him together, or I can leave you to remember him as he was."

"Bring him," Dean said quickly. "I don't care what it costs me. Bring him to me to take care of him."

Lucifer nodded. "I will. We should go now."

Dean gasped. "Now?"

"I think it will only hurt you more to wait," Lucifer said.

Dean nodded and Bobby shifted himself so he was facing Sam's empty gaze. "Lucifer's taking you on a little vacation, I hear, Sam. You go with him and come back well, okay? We need you here."

Sam stared through him and Bobby cleared his throat roughly as he stood and walked out of the room. Dean saw him wipe at his face before he closed the door behind him.

Lucifer helped Sam to his feet and took his hand. "Castiel?"

Castiel shook his head, his eyes wide. "I don't know what to say!"

"Say whatever you need him to know," Gabriel said.

Castiel stood in front of Sam and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry that I did not do a better job to protect you, Sam. And I will miss you very much." He turned away shook his head briskly.

Lucifer looked at Dean and he knew it was his turn. How could he put what he needed Sam to know into words though? Their bond had always been unspoken, with more said in a simple hug than in words.

He walked to Sam and held his face in his hands, directing Sam's empty stare to his eyes. "Don't be gone too long, okay? Come back because we need you, _I_ need you, more than anything."

He hugged Sam for a moment, hating the stiff feel of him in his arms but relishing the heat, before breaking away and wiping at his face.

"You better go," he said.

Lucifer nodded and taking Sam's hand, he led him out of the house. He looked back from the door and said, "I will do everything I can, Dean."

"I know," Dean said, and he did, because if anyone loved and needed Sam as much as him, it was Lucifer.

The door clicked closed behind Gabriel and they were gone.

Now Dean had to wait.

* * *

 **So… Hands up if you hate me?**

 **Sam would never be able to just accept what he did, even with Lucifer there helping him. He needs time and peace, and the Cage is the most perfect place to give that to him.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	41. Chapter 40

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and Gredelina1 for helping and supporting.**

 **Some unexpected names in my inbox after the last chapter. Thank you for reviewing. It really does mean the world to me.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Forty**_

As soon as they arrived in the Cage, Lucifer checked Sam over. There was a risk that traveling through the portal might have damaged him, and he was worried, but there was no sign of anything more than had already been there. Sam was as blank and empty looking as he had been for the past month. He didn't even seem aware that they had moved from Bobby's yard to the yowling emptiness that was the Cage at its most base form.

Lucifer quickly took control, summoning the image he needed to present and transferring it to their surroundings. The sand flowed from under their feet, stretching into a shore of breaking waves and then into rolling water. The air filled with the scent of salt and a light breeze ruffled their hair. It was early morning, and the sun was just rising over the horizon, painting the sky.

Lucifer felt a slight lightening of the load on his shoulders at their return. This was his and Sam's place. No one but Gabriel had been here before, and he had never been privy to the most intimate moments of their everyday life here—those moments that were sometimes nothing more than a word or touch of the hand, but mattered so much to them both.

At least they had once. Lucifer seemed to be carrying those moments alone now.

He ached for Sam as he had been when he had first been cured, stunned at Lucifer's return, crying happy tears and laughing, saying Lucifer name with such love. That short, bittersweet memory he had before the Mark had wreaked its vengeance upon them both, before the darkness had won, was treasured.

He shook off the thoughts, concentrating on what he could do and control, like Sam's hand in his own.

"Come with me, Sam," he said. "We're going to sit down."

Sam allowed him to lead the way to the shore. He stopped a few yards from the highest point the tide would reach on the soft sand, where they would feel the spray of the waves but not get wet.

"Sit down, Sam," he said

Sam sat down, his knees bent in front of him, his eyes staring blankly out at the horizon.

Lucifer knelt in front of him and untied his boots and slipped them off. He put them aside—they would not be needed for some time—and tugged off his socks carefully. There were probably only a handful of people, Lucifer last among them, that knew how sensitive Sam's feet were. Lucifer remembered him collapsing in laughter once at a misplaced touch. Lucifer had sometimes repeated the touch just to hear him laugh like that.

When Sam's feet were bare, Lucifer positioned them so that they were heels down and buried them with sand.

"Do you feel that, Sam?" he asked. "That's the sand. Do you know where we are?"

Sam gave no sign that he had heard. He just stared blankly.

"We're home," Lucifer said. "It's just you and me here now, and we have all the time in the world. There is nothing you have to do but come back when you can."

He rolled up Sam's jeans legs to the knees and then removed his own shoes and rolled his pants. He sat down beside Sam and rested against his shoulder. "I'm going to take care of you, Sam. I'm going to take care of everything now. You just rest."

* * *

Hours, days, months, even seasons didn't exist in the Cage. The only way to keep time was the turning of the tides and the night that followed each day. Lucifer didn't even have to think of it. It happened naturally there without his control. It was just as God had done when He created the earth and set it turning. Humans called tornadoes and hurricanes acts of God, when really, they were just acts of the system of weather He had created. Lucifer did that now. He created the beach they sat on, the jungle behind them, set the waves to rolling, and the Cage did the rest.

Time _had_ passed though, Lucifer was peripherally aware of it, but still Sam did not change. He sat just in silence. When the sun set each evening, Lucifer lay him down and curled against him, manipulating Sam's arms so they were around him as they used to be when they would lie together. He hoped Sam sensed it in some way, but he was aware it was probably a false hope. The only reason he forced himself to let Sam go each morning was because he wanted things to change for him. If they were to lie in each other's arms at all times, there would be no passage of time for Sam to be even peripherally aware of, no impetus for him to change as time passed by them.

Though Lucifer told Sam every day that there was no rush, they could stay as long as he needed, that he was free to come back only when he could, Lucifer knew they had a limited time really if he wanted Sam to see the earth again. If he wasn't healed in time, Sam would only ever have Heaven with Dean, and though he could facilitate Bobby's presence too, it wouldn't be the same as them all being together in Bobby's house as they had been countless times before.

He fell into the habit of speaking only in Enochian early on. It was the only language they had spoken in the Cage since Sam learned it an eternity ago. It was theirs to speak. Only when they had been with other people did they speak English together. In a way, Lucifer was pleased to return to his natural language, as it was just another thing that was theirs from before.

"It's time to get up, Sam," he said, gently easing himself up from against Sam's chest. "It's morning. Sit up now."

Sam pushed himself up from the sand and laid his hands on his lap and he stared blankly out at the waves. Lucifer brushed the sand from their clothes and then settled himself at Sam's side, taking his hand in his. He followed Sam's gaze out to the horizon and frowned. There was a boat bobbing on the waves.

"Do you see that, Sam?" he asked. Sam, of course, made no reply. Lucifer couldn't even be sure Sam was actually looking at the boat, but he was definitely looking in that direction.

It wasn't something Lucifer had placed there. The elements, the tides, day and night, were the Cage, but the boat meant someone else was there. He wondered if it was Gabriel's time to come already, but he would never choose to arrive like this. Lucifer had told him about Micah. Gabriel wouldn't imitate their Father.

He shaded his eyes against the rising sun and squinted out at the boat. A man was sitting at the helm. He couldn't see the face, but he knew who it was at once when he took in the tan skin, the boat's dirty white sail and the basket hanging from the side. Micah was back.

The fact that God was in the Cage was incredible to Lucifer. He had to check at first that it was real, that he hadn't somehow created the boat himself, but when he focused on wiping it away, it remained resolutely there. He had really come. His Father was with him when he needed Him most of all.

The figure in the boat raised a hand and Lucifer returned the gesture, looking from the boat to Sam, thinking that perhaps God's presence would register with him, but there was no sign that it had.

"He's here, Sam," he said. "He came to help us."

Sam didn't react, but Lucifer found himself feeling comforted anyway. God had come for them. It was more than him alone against the demons in Sam's mind now. His father was there, too.

* * *

The day Gabriel came surprised Lucifer. He had stopped paying such close attention to the time and days passing as the years began to slip past. His milestones now were the arrival of the boat on the horizon. Some days it was there, some days it wasn't. Lucifer never knew what it would be that day until it came. There was no precursor. He didn't feel His presence any more than he had in Heaven, because God didn't want him to feel it yet.

He was sitting with Sam, listening to the waves crash and stroking his thumb across Sam's palm, when he heard someone coming moving through the jungle. He turned and saw Gabriel at the edge of the trees. "Gabriel is here, Sam," he said. "I will come right back."

He set Sam's hand back in his lap and got to his feet. He walked to where Gabriel stood waiting for him.

"Has it been a month already?" he asked upon greeting him.

"It's been two for us," Gabriel said. "So around twenty years for you. I thought I'd give you a good honeymoon period before coming. How is he?"

"The same," Lucifer said regretfully.

"Damn. I was hoping for something good to report."

"How are the others?" Lucifer asked.

Gabriel sighed. "Not good. Dean is the worst, naturally, but they're all struggling. Bobby has taken a couple hunts with his buddy Rufus, and Castiel has come home a few times to help me out, but mostly they're switching off keeping an eye on Dean."

"He's that bad?"

"Yep. He's in a world of hurt. Bobby and some friend called Ellen are trying to get him to take a hunt, but he's not interested. It's a shame. I think killing something would be really good for him. He needs something more than whiskey to fill his days."

If Dean was dealing with his pain with alcohol again, it was a sign of real suffering for him. He had seemed to learn his mistake from that choice of coping when Sam was with Lucifer last time. He had made very questionable choices when drinking that time.

"You will take care of him, won't you?" Lucifer asked.

"You mean will I save his abused liver from the rotgut? Castiel is already on it. He's taking care of both their livers, along with their cholesterol levels and clogged arteries. He's a good man to have around if you live like they do."

"Thank him for us, please," Lucifer said.

"I better make it just you. If I bunch Sam in with you, they're going to be hopeful. Is there anything good I can tell them at all? I can't go back with nothing. You haven't seen them, Lucifer."

Lucifer considered. He was trying to think of something good that could be said about their situation. "He seems more peaceful here," he said.

"Peaceful?" Gabriel scoffed. "That's really going to help."

"I am sorry," Lucifer said. "I cannot lie to them. It's not been long enough yet. He needs more time."

Gabriel nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know. It just really sucks to be the messenger angel sometimes." He peered at Sam's back and then his gaze drifted past him to the boat that had appeared on the horizon. "Nice boat. You giving him something to look at?"

"It is not mine," Lucifer said. "That is Father."

Gabriel rushed forward, past Sam, coming to a stop at the foaming shore. Lucifer hurried after him as Gabriel squinted at the boat.

"Is it really Him?" he asked.

"Yes. He hasn't come to shore, but this is how He appeared to me in Heaven."

As they watched, the boat bobbed out of view.

"Good talk, Dad," Gabriel said sardonically.

"At least He is here. He came."

Gabriel kicked the sand. "Yeah, He came for _you_. You always were His favorite."

Lucifer shook his head "He's not here for me, Gabriel. He's here for Sam."

Gabriel laughed and turned back to Sam who was staring right through them. "Hear that, Sam? Dad made an appearance for you. That worth saying something for? You could say hello next time."

Lucifer thought he saw something flicker across Sam's face. It lasted only a second, but he was sure it was there. It looked like surprise.

Lucifer dropped to his knees in front of him and cupped Sam's cheeks in his hands. "Sam? Can you hear me?" When there was no reaction he turned back to Gabriel. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Gabriel asked.

"His face… It changed."

"Sorry, Lucifer, I missed it," he said. "You sure it was there?"

"Yes," Lucifer said emphatically. "It was like when the Mark was gone. He reacted."

"Awesome," Gabriel said brightly. "I have something good to report. Sam reacted."

"He did," Lucifer said excitedly but then doubt crept into his heart. He thought he had seen it, but was he sure enough of that to tell Dean? What if it had happened but that was the extent of progress for months more of Dean's time? He would be awaiting more progress with each visit Gabriel made, but there might not be more for a time. That would be more than disheartening for them. It would be devastating and hope-stealing. "Just tell them he is more peaceful. It is better for them."

Gabriel frowned. "Yeah? I guess you're probably right. I won't tell them yet. You're the boss after all. I better get back. Leave you two in peace. Unless you want me to stay awhile; you need a little more conversation with someone that actually talks back?"

"No, thank you," Lucifer said mildly. "We are fine as we are."

Gabriel waved a hand and then walked back into the trees.

"You heard him, didn't you, Sam?" Lucifer said hopefully, stroking Sam's cheek. "I know you did. It's okay. You take your time. I will be waiting for you."

* * *

Lucifer was in the jungle collecting wood. He had decided that morning that he wanted to give Sam something else to look at besides the ocean and sky—he never looked at Lucifer.

He knew he could easily provide a fire through will alone, but it felt right that he made something physical for him, something he had built with Sam in mind.

He had waited for dusk to leave to collect the wood, as he wanted the most impact for it when darkness fell, hoping that Sam might react to the change in their usual scenery.

He gathered a few more sticks and carried them back to the beach, dropping them onto the pile he had already built. He knelt and built a teepee of wood, carefully piling more around it until it was large enough to last them a few hours.

He moved back and said, "Watch, Sam," as he flicked a finger at the base and the flames caught and spread.

Sam didn't react, not that Lucifer had really expected him to. He moved himself so that he was sitting at Sam's side, and leaned against his shoulder. For a long time, he sat without speaking, just staring at the flames, and then he became aware of the boat coming closer. His heart leapt. Was He going to come at last?

He tried not to stare as the boat approached the shore, but when it grounded and Micah climbed out, he rose to his feet and walked towards Him. Without a word, they dragged the boat out of the pull of the waves.

"Thank you, Son."

Lucifer smiled. To hear himself addressed thus was a balm to him. He had been so long without his Father's presence that this was more than he could describe, especially at this time when he was so unsure and feeling so alone.

"May I share your fire?"

Lucifer smiled. "Of course."

They walked back to Sam, and Lucifer sat at his side, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Micah sat on his other side and looked into the fire.

For a long moment they didn't speak, Lucifer just absorbed his Father's presence and the comfort that brought, and then he asked a question that had been troubling him for a while.

"Father, did I do the right thing, bringing Sam here?"

"Did I in coming here, too?" he asked, in return.

"Yes," Lucifer said. "But did I?"

He considered carefully before answering. "I think you did. I know this is the most peaceful place for him outside of Heaven, perhaps even more so as it is the place of so many memories for you both. I believe Sam will come back in time, now that he is here."

"Can you help him?" Lucifer asked.

He shook his head sadly. "I cannot. This is Sam's mountain to climb." He gave Sam a sad smile. "But you are trying, aren't you, Sam? I can feel it." He reached out and traced a finger over Sam's cheek. "You're doing what you can."

Lucifer gasped as he saw Sam's eyes brighten momentarily with awareness. He frowned and cast his eyes to Lucifer, his mouth opening as if he was going to speak, and then his mouth closed and his eyes became distant.

"Can you do it again?" Lucifer asked his father. "Touch him?"

"I could," He said. "But Sam would not react. He has spent himself giving you that much, and even my magic has its limits. I wish that I could do more, Son."

Lucifer sighed. "Even that was more than I hoped for."

His Father nodded and pushed Himself to his feet. "I think I will walk awhile. I promise to come back though." He hesitated before speaking again. "Don't lose hope, Son. He is truly trying to come back to you. You just need to give him time."

He looked down at Sam once and then turned and walked away, His bare feet leaving footprints in the sand.

* * *

After God's visit, Lucifer always kept a fire burning. It was partly to give them something to look at and himself something to do, but also as an invitation for his Father to join them again. He hadn't come yet, but Lucifer often saw the boat bobbing out there.

"I want to do something different this morning, Sam," he said. "We're going into the water for a while."

The idea had come to him in the night. It would be a tactile experience for Sam, and something they had not done together since the first time they were here.

He rolled Sam's jeans up further past his knees and eased him to his feet. Sam stared through him, but God's words that Sam was trying resonated in his mind, and he knew that beyond the blank stare was life and effort.

They walked hand in hand to the waves. Sam rocked at first as the tide rolled over them, and then he steadied. Lucifer led him out further and deeper, until the rolled legs of their pants were soaked through. They would dry soon enough in the in the sun, and even if they didn't, Lucifer could will them dry.

Lucifer brought them to a stop and bent to wet his hands in the water and then brought them up to trickle over Sam's face. "Do you feel that?" he asked. "Do you feel how warm it is?"

He stared out at the boat on the horizon for a moment, and then started as something lightly brushed against him leg. He looked down and saw a shoal of small fish swimming around them. They were electric blue with fins and tails like transparent feathers. He had not created them to be here. This was God's input to the experience.

"Look down, Sam," he said excitedly. "See how beautiful they are!"

To his great shock, Sam tilted his head down and seemed to actually see the stunning fish. His eyes moved, following their movements.

Terrified of spooking Sam and driving back into himself, he stayed silent, just watching Sam as he watched the fish. Then, as time passed and Sam remained engaged, he said very quietly. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Quietly, so quietly Lucifer thought at first that he might be imagining it, Sam said, "Yes, they are."

Lucifer lifted his head to the horizon and whispered his thanks to his Father. He didn't know how long Sam's awareness would last, but every second it did was a blessing.

He felt exhilarated at the change. He finally had something good to report to Dean through Gabriel. Sam was finally coming back. It would not be fast, and there would surely be back steps along the way, but it was happening at last.

* * *

 **So… Things are improving. The Cage scenes were originally one monster-sized chapter, but I realized it was just too big. It would have lost the impact, so I split it into two. I hope there was much to entertain in this one.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	42. Chapter 41

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. Thank you Gredelina1 for all your help and support. Thank you all for reading.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Forty-One**_

Sam surprised Lucifer many times in the weeks and months that followed. He didn't speak much, or ever unprompted, but sometimes he responded to something Lucifer said. It was always quietly spoken and often vague, but it was there, further sign that Sam was healing and coming back.

When Gabriel made a visit, Lucifer was excited to tell him what was happening, and Gabriel almost as excited to be able to deliver news to Dean, Bobby and Castiel. He said they desperately needed the news. Dean was finally hunting again, teaming up with their friends Ellen and Jo Harvelle, but he was still relying on alcohol to cope and being reckless with his hunts.

Though he was concerned and wished he could speak to Dean in person, Lucifer didn't tell Sam these things, wary of bringing the real world into their peaceful place and of upsetting him. There was nothing Sam could do for them, so there was no need to tell him. When he was ready, healed, they could face what awaited them together. They would heal Sam and then help Dean recover.

"I think we need more wood," Lucifer said one afternoon. "Would you like to come with me?"

He didn't truly expect a response, much less agreement, as Sam had never responded to the question before, but he surprised him when he spoke quietly. "Yes."

Lucifer rolled down his pants and slid on his shoes and went to help Sam, but he was already slipping on his boots.

Pleased, Lucifer held out a hand to Sam instead of taking it himself, and smiled as Sam took it and curled their fingers together. Wary of making a wrong move, Lucifer stayed quiet, not pushing Sam for more, as they walked into the jungle. He reluctantly let Sam's hand go so he could gather wood, leaving Sam to look around at the trees.

Lucifer drifted a little further afield as he gathered, coming back to Sam when his arms were full. He expected Sam's gaze to be distant as it usually was, but he was staring fixedly at a branch a few feet above him. There were two monkeys there. They were a rich orange-brown with heart shaped faces and small black eyes. Their hair grew in a mane around their heads and long tails curled around the branch beside them. They were not an addition of Lucifer's; this was God helping them again.

Lucifer put the wood down at his feet and crept to Sam's side wary of scaring the object of his scrutiny away. He stayed silent, and then Sam started speaking in a whisper, and Lucifer held his breath as instead of the monosyllable answers he was used to hearing, Sam started to tell a story.

"When Dean was about ten and me six, we stayed in Maryland while Dad was taking a hunt. It took him a while to solve, so we were there a while. One day, Dad came back to the motel and said he had a surprise for us. We had no idea what was happening, and sometimes Dad's surprises were a diner breakfast, but he took us to this zoo. It was only a small place, probably cheap, but we were so excited. Dean wanted to see the monkeys most, and when we got to them, he started screwing around, making faces at them and laughing. He was having a real good time until they started chucking poop at us. I'd never seen him run so fast."

Lucifer chuckled, amusement mingled with the relief of Sam's voice speaking to him so freely.

"I wanted to see a tiger. I'd been learning about them in school, and I thought they were the coolest things. Dad asked for me, but since it was such a little place, they didn't have one. I was so disappointed I cried on the way home. Dad was mad, but Dean took care of me." He sighed. "I only ever went to that one zoo when I was a kid, so I didn't have another chance to see one until I was in college. Me and Jess went to the San Francisco Zoo together. They had tigers listed on their website, and I was really excited, but when we found the enclosure, they weren't there. It was something about a breeding program and them needing to be segregated. I was so disappointed we didn't get to see one." He smiled slightly. "On the way out, Jess went to the gift shop and bought me a stuffed toy one. It burned in the fire, but I remember how proud she was of it, giving me my tiger."

It wasn't often that Sam mentioned Jessica Moore to him. Perhaps he thought the mention of the woman he had loved enough to want to marry would upset Lucifer. It didn't. He was happy to hear about that part of Sam's life. Once, out of curiosity, he had visited her in Heaven. She hadn't noticed him watching her, and Lucifer had never told Sam, as her Heaven had been Sam and he knew that would hurt him. She was happy though, and that was what mattered.

"You never tried to see one again?" Lucifer asked, wanting to keep Sam speaking.

"No," Sam said. "There was never time. It was college and then hunting and then you."

"One day you will see a tiger," Lucifer said. "I will find one for you."

Sam turned to face him, and for the first time in their years of the Cage, Sam looked him right in the eyes. He was aware and engaged, and Lucifer could see the man he loved reflecting his soul in his gaze. "Thank you, Lucifer."

Lucifer wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to vow his love, but he thought Sam had given enough for one day and he didn't want to push him more, so he settled for a gentle hug. He would let Sam do this in his own time.

* * *

Lucifer had given over control of the Cage to God now completely. He seemed to know what Sam needed when he needed it, so he let Him have freedom without interference. The tides and times were rolling and all Lucifer had to do was let himself enjoy them.

They were lying side by side, staring up at the stars, looking at the created cosmos. It was beautiful, one of his Father's greatest creations. Lucifer remembered its birth, standing proud with his brothers, and how it had stolen their words at first as they took it in.

He was enjoying it now when Sam spoke unprompted. Lucifer lifted himself onto one elbow to watch Sam's expression change as he spoke quietly.

"When we were young, sometimes Dad didn't have money or a credit card for a motel, so we would sleep in the car. It was hell if it was during winter, and me and Dean would have to huddle together to stay warm. The summer was best as we could get out and watch the stars, lying on the hood. Dad would sometimes be in a bar, hustling to get us money or just drinking away what little we did have, but we were happy together. Dean was the one that started naming the stars. He'd give them dumb names like wendigo on a motorbike, even when it made no sense, while I would try to teach him the real names. When I left college, we started doing it again, but we wouldn't talk anymore. We'd just stare up at them. It was hard at first, to not talk, because I needed to talk about what was happening with Dad and what I had seen, but it got easier until I loved it. We would sit for hours in silence, feeling like we were the only two people in the world."

"That sounds nice," Lucifer said quietly.

Sam smiled. "It was. It makes me think, though, about what's happening now for him. Do you think he does it still? On his own or with Cas and Bobby?"

"No," Lucifer said honestly.

Sam frowned. "No?"

"I think he will be waiting for you to return so he can share it with you again."

Sam looked sad for a moment and then his face transformed into a smile. "A shooting star!"

Lucifer looked up and saw the blaze of light streaking across the sky. "Yes."

Remembering the human customs Sam had once explained about wishes, he knew that it was something you did for a shooting star, like fallen eyelashes, pennies in wells and candles on a cake. "Make a wish, Sam."

Sam closed his eyes and Lucifer did the same, making his own wish for the man he loved. _"Keep him coming back to me. Don't let him slip away again."_

* * *

They were sitting on the beach under the sunset. Sam was feeding the fire when he glanced out at the ocean. "There's a boat coming, Lucifer," he said, sounding startled.

"It's okay," Lucifer soothed. "It's a friend."

Sam moved back to sit beside Lucifer as the boat grounded and his Father climbed out. He smiled widely as He saw Sam and Lucifer together, Sam's gaze following Him as He dragged the boat ashore and walked toward them. Though He surely knew Sam's progress as He had been there, even though He hadn't come to them, He looked pleased.

He strolled towards them. "Hello, Sam."

Sam smiled slightly.

"This is Micah, Sam." Lucifer thought it better not to blast him with the truth already.

"Hello, Micah," Sam said quietly.

"Do you mind if I share your fire again?" He asked.

Sam didn't look surprised at the indication of his previous visit, which made Lucifer think he must have been at least peripherally aware at the point of reaction he'd had last time. It had not just been a reflex to God's touch.

"Feel free," Lucifer said, holding out a hand to Sam who took it and intertwined their fingers.

God took a seat beside Sam and looked into the flames. "I do enjoy a fire," He said. "I always seem to see shapes in the flames that interest me. Faces and memories of people I miss."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Me too."

Lucifer wondered who he saw. He knew he couldn't ask, as God was there and Sam wasn't comfortable.

It seemed God had no such compunctions though. "Who do you see, Sam?"

Sam was quiet a long time, so long Lucifer thought he wouldn't answer. Then he drew a breath and said, "My family."

"Do you have a big family?"

"Not really. It's just three others. I have an adopted dad called Bobby, and there's Cas, and… Dean."

"Who is Dean?"

Sam looked sad. "My brother."

"You must miss him very much."

Lucifer shot his Father a sharp look, a warning in his eyes to not push, but God had always gone in His own direction. Lucifer didn't want Sam to regress because he was stressed, but he was also curious about the answer.

"I do," Sam said. "I will."

"Why? Won't you see him again?"

Sam shook his head briskly and stood up. "We need more wood. I'll be right back."

"Sam," Lucifer said starting to push himself up, but Sam held up a hand.

"I'll be right back," he said, a clear indication that he wanted to do it alone.

Lucifer watched him go and then turned to his Father. "You went too far," he accused. "He wasn't ready."

"He was," He replied calmly. "I know you want to help Sam, but you came here to heal him. That is happening now, he is getting better, but you cannot forget the people that are waiting for you on earth. You cannot keep Sam here forever."

"I don't want to!" Lucifer said sharply. "I promised Dean."

"Don't you regret that promise a little?" He pressed. "Don't you wish it could stay just the two of you?"

Lucifer wanted to answer honestly, but he was ashamed of the answer. He had been here a long time with Sam, and, since he started talking again, it had been wonderful. He was aware that at some point he was going to have to share him again, and he didn't look forward to that, but he was also worried the stress of returning would drive Sam away from them and make him close off again.

"There is the portal to think of," he said instead of answering. "It is hard on him and he is already fragile."

"I can take care of that. There is no need for the portal while I am here. Sam will be perfectly safe."

"Okay, but not yet though. He needs more time still. I won't force him to go until he's ready. I want him to forgive himself before he faces them."

God nodded. "I agree. You and I know there is nothing to forgive that wasn't the result of my sister _,_ but Sam doesn't understand that. I forgive him, you do, and I know his family does, so we just need to make him see that, too." He looked up. "Sam is waiting for me to leave so he can come back. I think he is feeling vulnerable now. I am sorry for it. I would not have pushed him past what he could handle though."

"I know," Lucifer said.

He stood and walked out to the boat. His Father climbed in and Lucifer pushed it from the shore and into the waves. He watched as it caught the wind and drew away, and then he went back to the fire to wait for Sam.

* * *

Sam was getting better with each day that passed. He initiated conversations and sometimes retold stories he had shared before. Each was like the first time for Lucifer, as he felt them come to life with Sam's words and the joy of hearing his voice flowing freely.

One afternoon they were in the ocean, the water lapping at their knees, while they watched a shoal of God's created fish swim around them, when he said, "Lucifer, who is Micah?"

Lucifer glanced out and saw the boat in the far distance.

"Who do you think he is?" he countered.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"I think you do."

"I thought maybe…" He shook his head. "We are in the Cage, right?"

"Yes, we are. And yes, He is God."

"How?" Sam breathed.

Lucifer took his hand and led him back to the shore. He saw down on the sand and Sam took a spot opposite him.

"He came to me when I was trapped in Heaven, just before we were set free again. We spoke, and shared some things. I didn't see Him again until we came here. He arrived shortly after we did."

"But it's the _Cage!"_ he said. "Hell. How can He be here?"

"He came for us. For you."

"Why?" Sam asked in a breathy voice.

"Because He loves you, too. I don't mean the love He has for all humanity. He loves you for who you are. He knows you better than most people, as He has watched you and Dean as you traveled the path you have, especially over the past decade, the things that happened in your life."

"He saw what I did," Sam said quietly. "He saw me become a demon."

"Yes. I don't know why He didn't intervene. So much could have been saved if He had, unless He had decided it was another journey that must be taken."

"How can what I did be a 'journey' that must be taken?" Sam asked bitterly. "Doesn't He know what I did?"

"Yes. He knows as much if not more than I do," Lucifer said gently. "And He forgives you as easily as I do."

"You can't know, not if you forgive me," Sam said.

Lucifer paused a moment, wondering if Sam was ready, strong enough, to hear it. He realized there was no 'ready' in this situation. Whenever they spoke about it would be too soon.

"I know about Geoffrey," he said. "I know about the apartment fire, and Bobby and Castiel. I know about the souls you tortured, and what happened to Crowley's friend Eric. I remember the things you did and said to me, the things I saw, and I know what happened with Gabriel. There is probably more, I am aware, but nothing I learn is ever going to change the way I feel about you or stop me from forgiving you."

Sam shook his head and a tear slid down his face. "I was going to destroy the world."

"So was I once," Lucifer said.

"It's not the same!"

"Why not? We were both infected with something cruel when it happened. I was infected with anger and hatred, and you were infected with the Mark. You made me see there was good in the world to love. You forgave me. Why can't you forgive yourself?"

"Because I enjoyed it," Sam said quietly. "I remember how it felt to choke Bobby and break Castiel's arm, and it was good. I loved torturing the souls until they weren't enough of a challenge, after Gabriel, and then I went for angels, your brothers and sisters. How can I forgive myself for that?"

Lucifer sighed. He thought the time was right for the explanation at last.

"The Mark did not just give you power, Sam. It gave you something incredibly dark and cruel. It was something from before the birth of the universe. There was no resisting it; I know, because it was mine once, too. I did not create it for Cain. It was created by God for me, to hold something called the Darkness. She was the opposite side of my Father, destruction instead of creation, dark opposed to light, and my brothers and I helped Him to defeat Her. She _is_ the Mark, and there was nothing you could have done to resist Her. You enjoyed it because She did."

Sam looked thoughtful but still not convinced.

"I forgive you, Sam. Dean, Bobby, and Cas, do, too. God does. You have to forgive yourself."

"How can you know they forgive me?" he asked.

"Because I saw what it did to them when we lost you. There was no blame in them, only grief. They love you."

Sam turned back to the ocean. "Okay."

"Is that 'okay', I forgive myself?" Lucifer asked.

"It's just okay."

"Sam…" he said sadly.

"Not now, Lucifer," he said. "Please."

Lucifer moved closer to him and leaned his head on his shoulder. "Okay, Sam, not now. Whenever you're ready. I love you."

Sam rested his cheek against Lucifer's hair. "I love you, too."

* * *

Another anniversary of their time in the Cage was approaching, and Lucifer was coming to the reluctant conclusion that it would be time for them to leave soon. He wanted to get Sam back, to keep his promise to Dean, but he didn't want to put pressure on Sam or—shamefully—be forced to leave this place where their love was the only thing that mattered.

Sam was healed though. The only thing lacking was his own forgiveness, and Lucifer thought they could stay here another century and not reach the point in which Sam could forgive himself. He lived and loved as he had before. They spent endless days talking on the beach, exploring the jungle, and enjoying the ocean. It was perfect.

Sam was lying on the sand watching the fire and Lucifer was standing in the waves as they crept up the shore as the sun set when he girded himself and made himself do what he knew he must.

He walked back to Sam and sat beside him. "I think it's time to go back," he said quietly.

Sam looked startled. "What?"

"We have to go back, Sam. They need you, and we cannot make them wait much longer. It would be cruel."

"I'm not ready," Sam said.

"I think you are. I think the problem now is that you are scared. I want to show you something, if you are ready to see it."

"See what?" Sam asked uncomfortably.

"The day you left. I think that's the only way to make you understand."

Little as Lucifer wanted to do it, to revisit that time when Sam had been so completely broken, he knew Sam needed to see it.

Sam nodded. "Okay. Show me."

Lucifer waved his hand and a mirror appeared in front of them, blocking the ocean view. For a moment they saw themselves reflected back—Sam scared and Lucifer worried—and then the glass misted and when it cleared they were looking into Bobby's house. The man himself was sitting facing Sam on the couch. Sam's gaze was empty, staring right through the older man as he spoke in a voice that was pained, despite the forced easiness of his words. _"Lucifer's taking you on a little vacation, I hear, Sam. You go with him and come back well, okay? We need you here."_ He walked from the room, wiping at his wet eyes.

"Bobby," Sam breathed. "Look at him."

"It's okay, Sam," he said, taking his hand and squeezing it.

They watched as Lucifer helped Sam stand and then he addressed Castiel who shook his head, eyes wide with fear. _"I don't know what to say!"_

Gabriel smiled at him. _"Say whatever you need him to know."_

Castiel moved to stand in front of Sam and he laid an awkward hand on his shoulder. _"I am sorry that I did not do a better job to protect you, Sam. And I will miss you very much."_

"Cas," Sam said miserably. "After what I did to him. How I treated him, even before I was a demon…"

"He loves you, Sam," Lucifer said. "They all do."

The image moved to Dean, and Sam sucked in a breath as he reached out a hand to the mirror. "Dean!" he whispered.

They watched Dean as he lifted Sam's face to his, staring into his empty eyes, his own were burning with pain. _"Don't be gone too long, okay? Come back because we need you, I need you, more than anything."_ He embraced Sam's still form and then pulled back, wiping at his face. _"You better go."_

The mirror misted again and then disappeared, and Sam stared at the point it had been with tears tracking down his cheeks. Lucifer caught them with his thumbs and wiped them away.

"Look what I did to them," he said mournfully. "I looked so awful. I was empty."

"You were," Lucifer agreed, "and that hurt them, but think how much joy you will bring them by going back now."

Sam nodded. "I have to, don't I? I can't leave them like that."

"You can't," Lucifer agreed. "They need you as much as I do. It is your choice though. Gabriel is due to come in a week or so to see if we're ready, but if you want to leave sooner, I am sure my Father will help us."

Sam considered. "One more night? Can we just have one more night here? Just the two of us."

"Of course, we can," Lucifer said. "Whatever you need. Shall we fetch some wood for one last fire?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He got smoothly to his feet and held out a hand to Lucifer who stood and took it. They walked into the jungle together, and Lucifer began to gather wood. Sam picked up occasional pieces, but he wasn't completely there. His expression was vague but not empty. Distracted rather than lost.

Lucifer had an armful and was bending for more when he saw the bright, intelligent eyes coming from a patch of trees ahead of them.

"Sam, stop. Look," he said quietly.

Sam had been wandering ahead, but he stopped and frowned at Lucifer. "What is it?"

Lucifer pointed at the eyes, which blinked before the tiger walked forward.

It was beautiful with dark stipes against reddish-orange on its coat. It was at least ten-feet from its nose to the tip of its tail, and its tawny eyes were piercing. It radiated no menace through, and Lucifer felt no fear as Sam reached out a hand. The tiger walked forward slowly and sniffed his fingers. Sam watched it, looking awed, and Lucifer was just as awed by the man he loved.

"Look at him," Sam whispered. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"No," Lucifer said honestly. He had seen a multitude of things in his life, the creation of universes and destruction of others, and yet watching the man he loved experiencing this was more powerful than anything else he had ever seen.

"Did you do this for me?" Sam asked.

"No," Lucifer said. "It was God.

"Why?"

"I think He is showing you that you're as strong as you ever were. Look what you are doing."

Sam smiled as the tiger licked the tips of his fingers with its rough tongue.

"I think He might be right."

The tiger looked up at Sam then moved back and retreated into the trees. Sam watched it go, his face struck with awe still.

"You saw your tiger, Sam."

He laughed softly. "I did."

"And are you ready?" The voice came from behind them, and Lucifer was just as startled to see his Father there as Sam evidently was. "Sam?" he prompted.

"Yes," Sam said. "I think I am."

God smiled. "I am glad. Do you need any longer?"

Sam shook his head and he dropped the scraps of firewood he had gathered and said, "No. I think it's time we left now."

"I agree," Lucifer said, his heart light at the thought of the kept promise he was delivering to Dean and the others that cared for Sam. He set down his bundle of wood and went to Sam's side. He took his hand and intertwined their fingers.

"Close your eyes, Sam," God instructed.

Sam obeyed, and Lucifer did the same. He felt a pull in his stomach and the warm touch of God's love on his back as they were carried away.

Going home.

* * *

 **So… I have loved many chapters of this story, but these scenes with Lucifer, Sam, and God are among my favorites. It was intimidating as hell at first to write** _ **God**_ **but I got into the swing of it and I think that these scenes are among the better ones.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	43. Epilogue

**Thank you Jenjoremy for all your work on this story. You always know what I am trying to say when the words don't appear and you catch all my mistakes. Thank you also Gredelina1 for helping and supporting. Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and supporting this story. It's always much appreciated.**

* * *

 _ **Epilogue**_

Bobby was at his desk, leafing through a heavy volume of lore on Southeast Asian monsters. He wasn't researching a particular hunt, as he'd finished one up only the night before, but it gave him something to do and it was always good to have lore in the back of your mind. One never knew when it would come in handy for a hunt.

He turned a page to see a carving of a shrunken figure that looked like a deformed baby doll. It was called a Jenglot and it apparently drank blood.

"Nice," he muttered. "At least it's small."

He looked up as he thought he heard something, but when he concentrated, the house was silent. It usually was these days. Castiel was in Heaven a lot of the time, helping Gabriel, and his boys were gone.

When they had been trying to persuade Dean to hunt again, Bobby's motivation had been finding something that would fill his days instead of him spending the months sitting on the couch drinking himself into oblivion. It had worked to a fashion. He got off the couch, but he still drank himself into oblivion; he was just armed while he did it now. He didn't come back to Bobby's between hunts anymore. He only arrived at the turn of each month when Gabriel was due to come talk to them and give them news of Sam. He would listen to what Gabriel had to say, maybe share a drink and meal with Bobby, and then he would take off again to find something to kill.

The news coming from Gabriel, which had been painful at first as there was no change, was gradually improving. Last time he came, Gabriel said Sam was talking again and when he had seen him—albeit at a distance—he looked better than he had before.

Bobby just wished both his boys could be whole again. As Sam improved, Dean declined. The misplaced guilt he felt for what had happened, and what Sam had become, seemed to become heavier as each month passed without Sam returning to them. He only sometimes called himself, and rarely answered Bobby's calls, and when he did, he never spoke long. He usually just wanted information on whatever he was hunting and hung up as quickly as he could. Bobby knew it was going to take something stronger than his pleas for Dean to start taking care of himself again—it was going to take Sam's return.

He heard a noise again, and he slammed the book shut, thinking he would go outside and look around, when there was a tap on the back door.

He was surprised at the knock. Anyone outside of his family would knock at the front door. The others usually just walked right in. Castiel didn't even do that. He would just arrive wherever Bobby happened to be at time—one unforgettable time Bobby had woken with Castiel standing beside the bed, watching him sleep a little wistfully.

"Come in," he said gruffly.

The door eased open and one of the most unexpected people possible stepped inside.

Bobby's chair scraped back as he leapt to his feet. "Lucifer?"

He smiled. "Hello, Bobby."

"You're back!"

He smiled. "Yes, _we_ are."

Bobby's heart leapt at the emphasis. "We? Sam's back, too?"

"Yes."

"Holy shit." Bobby put a hand to his chest, feeling his heart racing. "Where is he?"

"He is just saying goodbye."

"To who?"

"God," Lucifer said simply.

"God's here! Holy shit!" He winced. "God just heard me say holy shit. Oh well. No point putting on airs now. He's probably seen and heard it all from me already anyway."

Lucifer chuckled. "God forgives much more than a slip of the tongue."

"Good to know." Bobby stepped to the window, trying to get a glimpse of Sam. He couldn't see him, but he heard movement on the porch and then Lucifer spoke softly.

"Yes, he is here."

He stepped away from the door and Sam came in. He looked nervous as he entered, and he avoided Bobby's eyes at first, looking around the room. Only when Bobby whispered his name did he look at him and Bobby saw the fear in his eyes. He was scared.

"Hey, Bobby," he said quietly.

Bobby rounded the desk and approached him slowly, wary of startling him. Sam flinched as Bobby reached him and his eyes grew wet.

"None of that," Bobby said gruffly, thumbing at his own eyes.

"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly. "I am so sorry."

"None of that either. We all know what happened and why, and I don't want to hear apologies from you. It wasn't the real you. It was that damn Mark making you what you were."

"I could have killed you," Sam said.

"But you didn't," Bobby said reasonably. "I healed. There's no damage done."

Sam looked hopefully into his eyes and Bobby knew what he needed. He pulled Sam against him and held him tightly. Sam brought his arms up to return the hug and Bobby felt him draw a shaky breath.

"It's okay," Bobby said gently. "You're just fine. It's okay now."

When they eventually parted and Sam pulled back, Bobby saw he was crying freely. His own face was wet, too.

"Have you seen Dean?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "Not yet."

"I have sent Gabriel to tell him," Lucifer said.

Bobby thought that was probably a good idea. It would give Dean a chance to clean himself up a little.

"You ready to see Cas?" he asked. "He's kicking around Heaven right now, but I'll call him down."

Sam looked uncertain. "Are you sure…"

"He'll want to see you?" Bobby guessed. "I'm positive."

"Remember what you saw, Sam," Lucifer said cryptically.

Sam seemed to understand, as he nodded and said, "Okay. Sure."

Bobby smiled as he raised his voice and called, "Cas, you got a minute? There's something I want to show you."

There was a flutter of wings and Castiel appeared. He looked stunned as he looked at Lucifer, and then his eyes caught Sam and a wide smile spread across his face. He walked forward without a word and threw his arms around Sam, holding him tightly.

"Sam!" he said. "You're back!" Each word was laden with obvious relief and joy.

Sam smiled as they parted and then his eyes darkened again. "Cas, I am so sorry," he said.

Castiel shook his head briskly. "It is done. I was not my best self then either. I was bitter and angry when I lost my grace. I didn't handle the situation with the Mark well, and I didn't express myself properly. I was still having an angel's reactions to what was happening, even though I was human and should have been more understanding. _I_ am sorry."

"How's about we all accept we're sorry and let it go?" Bobby said.

"I think that would be much better," Lucifer said, laying a hand on Sam's back. "We all have a part in what happened through our reactions and we need to lay it to rest."

Bobby and Castiel nodded agreement, as Sam chewed his lip.

"Sam?" Lucifer prompted.

"Yeah. Okay."

Bobby wasn't convinced that he was fully invested in what Lucifer said, but he understood the hesitance. Despite the months he had been gone, a century in the Cage, he still had some horrors in his mind to make peace with. It would take more time, especially now he was back among the people he had hurt.

"Do you know where Dean is?" Lucifer asked.

"Gabriel was due in a few days, so I'm guessing he's heading back this way already, but he was in Virginia last I heard. He won't be long, I'm sure."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

"You want a drink or something while we wait?" Bobby asked. "Castiel has finally mastered coffee.

"That'd be great," Sam said with forced cheer. "Thank you."

Bobby watched as he followed Castiel to the counter and picked up mugs as Castiel started to fill the coffee maker. He thought Sam looked a million times better than he had when he had seen him last, but he still wasn't completely back. It was going to take seeing his brother to make that happen.

* * *

Dean was in Iowa, only a few hours' drive from Bobby's, but unable to make the final leg of the journey just yet.

He had decided after his last vampire hunt in Virginia that he wasn't going to take another until he'd been back to Bobby's for Gabriel's visit. He had no expectation that it was going to be the visit that brought the news Sam was coming back, but he wanted any news of his brother he could get. The short snippets they got from the archangel weren't enough, but they were all he had to cling to, so they were precious. They gave him hope.

He was aware that when Bobby and the others were trying to persuade him to hunt again, they weren't expecting him to take off on his own, but it was what had happened naturally. He had stayed with Ellen and Jo at first, but they didn't understand how he felt. They blamed Lucifer for Sam going away and were vocal about it. They didn't know everything Sam had done—just that he'd been a demon and been cured. They couldn't understand just how many times Dean had lost Sam and how it felt this time, knowing he was suffering and Dean wasn't there to help him, not that he had helped much when he was.

He found it easier to hunt alone, to vent his rage on the monsters he found, and not have to talk about Sam. He thought of him more than anything, he couldn't stop that, but he didn't have to hear about how much other people were missing him, too. It was probably selfish and incorrect, but he didn't believe they really understood what it was to be without him. The only person that could was Lucifer, but he still had him.

His eyes drifted closed but he blinked himself awake again. It was only early afternoon, and he wasn't drunk enough to sleep yet. When he slept sober, the dreams were worse. They were varied and many, but in the worst ones, he was in Bobby's house with Sam. He would be in the room of covered furniture that Lucifer had described in Sam's own dreams, laying on the floor facing Sam. He would see Sam's empty stare, but in the dream, he knew if he could just touch him, Sam would wake up and be himself again. He was frozen though, his arms held against his chest by invisible bonds. He would fight and struggle to free himself, to get to Sam, but he could get no give. He had to lie there and knew that he couldn't reach Sam. It was worse than it had been with the real Sam there.

He reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table beside the bed and took a deep swig. It had long lost the ability to jolt him, but it satisfied an ache still. He was taking another draw when there was a rustle and Gabriel appeared.

"I bring tidings…" He threw his arms wide and said, "Sound the bells, bring out the banners, they're coming home!"

Dean sat bolt upright. "Sam's coming back?"

"Well, kinda…"

Dean heart sank. Of course it couldn't be as easy as him just coming back already.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Quit pouting, Winchester. When I say kinda I mean kinda as in he's technically already back."

"Where is he?" Dean asked, swinging his legs off the bed and standing, the bottle still gripped in his hand.

"Sioux Falls," he said brightly. "Lucifer said they're with Bobby already. Probably just about done with the hugging and crying now and moving onto the whiskey and sharing their vacation stories."

"Take me there," Dean ordered, "Now."

"How about… no? You don't want to be meeting your brother like this. You stink of liquor. You're swaying all over the place. You need a shave and change of clothes. And what have you done to your hand?"

Dean looked down at the busted knuckles he'd gotten in a fight a couple of nights ago when two drunk-off-their-asses men got in his face after they'd been hustled at pool. "Bar fight."

Gabriel tutted. "Well he sure as hell doesn't need to see that. Or you drunk."

He reached for Dean's temple, sending a rush of warm grace through him. Dean felt his knuckles burn as they healed and the skin knitted together. His head cleared as the effects of the whiskey he'd been drinking was washed away, and his low-grade headache disappeared.

"Thanks," he said quickly. "Take me to him now."

"Nope. You still need a shower, a shave, and clean clothes, and my grace can't do that for you. I'm also thinking the drive might tone down some of that manic energy you've got going on. Sam's still kinda fragile, and he needs you to be calm in case he can't be, understand?"

"How is he really?" Dean asked.

Gabriel frowned. "He's better, but he's not really completely better, if you know what I mean. He's back and talking and stuff, which is obviously a huge improvement, but he's kinda skittish apparently. I think he'll do better once he's seen you."

"Why didn't you tell us you were bringing them back?" Dean asked.

"Because I didn't know, duh. It was Dad that did this, not me."

" _God_ brought them back?"

"Yep. Apparently He's been hanging around with them down there a while. He's making a special effort for Sam. I think He's trying to work through some of Lucifer's issues of abandonment. And help Sam, of course. Between you and me, I think He's got a bit of a soft spot for you guys."

Dean's mind reeled. If there was one chance at someone getting through to and healing Sam, it had to be God. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

"Now, I've got to go," Gabriel said. "I have an absentee Father to talk to, and you have an absentee brother to see. Hurry up, clean up, and get home. They're going to be waiting for you."

"Thank you, Gabriel," Dean said.

Gabriel winked and then disappeared.

* * *

Dean drove the last few miles to Bobby's slower than the rest of the journey. As desperate as he was to see Sam, he was also scared. Thanks to Gabriel, the evidence of what he had been doing these past months was gone, but Sam knew him better than anyone, and probably would probably knew what he had let himself become in his absence. He didn't want to disappoint him. Sam had dragged himself back from the horrors he had committed and suffered and returned to them, and Dean had been weak without him. He had committed horrors, too. The creatures he had hunted had suffered more than had been necessary at his hands. He would perhaps need Sam to help him return properly, too. He only hoped Sam did a better job than he had been able to.

As the iron arch entrance to the scrap yard came into sight, Dean took a deep breath. Whether he was ready or not, it was time.

He turned and drove through the arch and then weaved through the stacks of junkers to the house. He pulled to a stop beside Bobby's Chevelle and climbed out. He raked a hand over his face and started forward, stopping abruptly when the door eased open. He was expecting Bobby maybe, or even Lucifer, there to give him a warning about what not to do before he was allowed to see Sam, but it was neither of them. It was Sam himself that stepped slowly out onto the porch.

Dean's breath caught. He was there. Not just physically, but mentally there, too. His gaze was engaged though scared as he stepped through the door. He was aware and alert to what was around him. The difference to the man he had last seen was profound. He was alive now.

"Sammy," he whispered.

Sam smiled slightly and walked across the porch and down the steps. His gait seemed to become more unsteady as he got closer, and then he stopped dead as if he had hit a wall six feet from where Dean was frozen by the still-open car door.

"Dean," he said weakly. "I am…"

His legs buckled and he dropped hard to his knees, his head bowing over as he started to cry. Dean's paralysis broke, and he rushed towards him. He dropped to his knees in front of Sam and, without hesitation, pulled him into his arms. His hand came to cradle the back of Sam's head as it fell onto his shoulder, and his other rested on Sam's back, holding him close.

He had held Sam like this once before, on that terrible day in Cold Oak, but this was so different. Though Dean still felt constricted by emotion, it was not the grief of that day when Sam died in his arms. He was alive now, breathing heaving breaths as he cried and gasped his words into Dean's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I am so sorry. Please… I am sorry."

Dean heard movement and Bobby's voice speaking quietly but firmly. "Wait, Lucifer. He's okay. They need this."

Dean soothed Sam quietly with soft words for what seemed like a long time, only pulling back to look Sam in the eyes when he calmed slightly and stopped clinging to him.

Sam's face was painted with tears, and Dean felt his own cheeks wetting as his tears spilled then quickly chilled in the air.

"Don't apologize," he said shakily. "Please, Sam, no more. It's over now, all of it. You're home."

Sam looked on the verge of apologizing again and Dean cut him off.

"Please, Sam," he said. "Stop. I can't hear it. You're back now, and that's what matters. Understand?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Thank you for coming back, and for coming home."

Sam smiled slightly. "Thank you for letting me."

"It was never in question," Dean said. "I'd say you can always come home, but you're never leaving like this again." A fresh tear slid down his cheek. "You can't leave me again."

"I won't," Sam promised. "I swear."

There were voices in the house that sounded agitated, and Dean chuckled. "We better get back inside. Sounds like your boyfriend is getting antsy."

Sam laughed softly and got to his feet, holding out a hand to Dean to help him up. Dean eased himself up against Sam's hold and followed him up the steps and across the porch into the house. Bobby and Castiel were at the counter, and Lucifer stood just inside the door, looking nervous, and as Sam entered, he took his hand.

Dean looked at him and tried to express his gratitude without letting Sam know what he was saying. "Thank you, Lucifer." He was thanking him for bringing him back when he must have been tempted to stay in that place with just the two of them forever. He was thanking him for saving Sam when he couldn't, and for knowing he could be saved when the rest of them had given up hope and were prepared to leave him to an eternity of Hell.

"I promised," Lucifer said, peaceful now that Sam was with him again.

"How are you doing?" Bobby asked, fixing his eyes on Dean.

"I'm okay," he said.

He knew a conversation was coming with Bobby and Castiel when they were alone, and apologies would have to be made for how he had cut them out of his sadness, refusing to share theirs, but he also knew he didn't need to be saved now or brought back by Sam. It wasn't a part of him that needed to be healed; it was the part that had been returned with Sam. He wasn't complete without Sam, he had seen it again and again over the years, but now Sam was back, so was he.

He hadn't been able to be here, home, with them while Sam was gone or share their sadness, because it wasn't home until Sam returned. It was them, all of them, that made it something other than a house with their shared affection and memories.

With the presence of them all around him, with Sam, he was himself and home.

* * *

 **So… That one was a tough write and edit. I wanted to capture the emotion but keep it true to the characters I developed.**

 **This story has been an amazing, if sometimes rocky, journey, and I am so thankful to those of you that have come on it with me.**

 **Until the next story…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


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